


tear it with your teeth

by belby



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Pennywise doesn't exist, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Richie Tozier is Whipped, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, but also oblivious and needs to get his shit together, they go from 15 to 18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belby/pseuds/belby
Summary: "We could leave this place, Eddie," Richie says. "God, imagine that? Not having to live in this trash dump anymore. We could go wherever we wanted. A different place every night."





	1. Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

> these two snuck up on me and i hate them. this is _kinda_ based on the movie and the book and all the fanfic i've binge-read over the past couple days. but it's also kinda based on my own self-indulgent desires. so there's that. 
> 
> also i should be able to update pretty quickly bc i have the next couple chapters written just unedited and the other ones planned out so. yeee. i really love writing these two

It's a Saturday, around 2pm, and fifteen year old Richie Tozier is trying a cigarette for the first time. He's tucked away in a shady alleyway, next to a pile of cardboard boxes and a trash can. The smell is far from pleasant, something rotten and damp, and the brick wall he leans against is cold, even through the fabric of his jacket. In his hand - quivering, only a little - is a lighter, and between his lips - tasting dry, like paper - is the cigarette.

He flicks the lighter a couple times, and it sparks and flames, bright in the dark alley. It belongs to him. The cigarette, on the other hand, does not. It was slipped to him under his desk yesterday by one smug-looking Beverly Marsh. She had fought very hard to keep the smirk off her lips, staring straight ahead - at where the teacher was writing up equations on the chalkboard - with a mask of rapt attention on her face. But she had ultimately given up, glanced over at Richie as his hand closed over hers under the desk, and the cigarette fell into his palm. The lift of her eyebrow, the corner of her mouth, said something like, _Smoke after school?_

And Richie had come up with some off-handed lie, with the shrug of his shoulders and flick of his hand.

Thing is, Beverly had been promising he'd have his first smoke with her for a very long time. She'd say it all excitedly, with a nudge in Richie's ribs and a glint in her eye. And while Richie liked the idea of smoking, and smoking with _her_ , he wasn't too keen on having her witness his very first try. He'd seen some kids try cigarettes behind the bleachers at school once; it was a cold, overcast kind of day, and the choppy wind blew the telltale stench of cigarette right into Richie's face as the two kids had inhaled, spluttered, and then thrown up.

Richie really didn't want Beverly around if he was destined to have the same fate.

So now, alone and cold in this disgusting alleyway, he lights the cigarette between his teeth and inhales. Slow, careful, because those kids at school had sucked in quickly and deeply and that had obviously not gone well for them.

It warms his mouth, sends a tingle along his jaw, and his throat, and half of his chest before it comes back up like a bullet and he's doubled over and hacking up half a lung.

 _Ah fuck._ Tears prick at his eyes and he's shaking by the time the coughing fit is over and thank god Beverly isn't here because she'd laugh about it for a week.

 _Whatever,_ he tells the mocking Beverly in his head. He's handling this better than any of the others Loser's would be, at least. Recovering quickly - wiping his mouth with the back of his hand - and taking a second hit. The others would've all thrown up by now. Well, maybe Mike wouldn't have. He seems too steady, too stable, for a response like that.

Eddie would have _definitely_ blown chunks.

Richie grins around the shape of the cigarette; the second inhale is still a little rocky, the third goes down smoother.

That is, if they could even convince Eddie to smoke at all. Richie can already picture the way Eddie's face would scrunch up in disgust, his arms folded up across his chest, something like, _That's so gross on his lips_. He'd be wearing those little shorts and his new baby blue fanny pack and maybe Richie would blow smoke in his face, just to hear Eddie yelp, and maybe Eddie would punch him in the arm and call him an asshole.

Richie blinks and the scents and sights of the alleyway come back into focus. And he realises that the cigarette is burning up in his hand. And that he's been smiling at the wall in front of him for the last few minutes.

He takes another hit - he's getting better at this, it's more pleasantly warm than disgusting - and his eyes catch on something passing by the alleyway.

Or, _someone._

It's the blue that snags Richie's gaze. He's been seeing a lot of it lately, because Eddie has been wearing a lot of it lately. And there he is, in a soft blue sweater that matches his new fanny pack, slowly walking along the sidewalk.

He has his hands out in front of him, and appears to be counting something on his fingers, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Speak of the devil." Richie grins to himself. Drops his cigarette and puts it out under his sneaker. Eddie eventually disappears from view and Richie slips towards the front of the alley. Careful to keep his footsteps quiet, he slinks out onto the sidewalk and stalks up behind Eddie. Holds his breath, lips pressed together tight. Eddie is muttering quietly to himself.

One. Two. Three. Richie clamps his hands onto Eddie's shoulders, ducking at the same moment to shout _"Eddie!"_ in his ear.

Eddie _screams._

There's a moment where Richie watches Eddie try to lunge away and turn around in the same instant, tripping over his own feet and stumbling back on the sidewalk. And then there's a moment where Richie doesn't see anything, because he's doubled over from laughing so hard.

" _Oh my god_ ," Richie gasps through his laughter. "Eddie, you...holy shit that was fucking _hilarious_."

"What the FUCK, Richie!" Eddie yells, face pale and legs a little shaky. Richie leans against shopfront closest to him, clutches at his stomach. Eddie balls his hands into little fists. "You're such a dick!"

"That was the most adorable reaction ever," Richie says, wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, as though Eddie hadn't spoken. "That _scream_..."

"You could've given me a fucking heart attack," Eddie interrupts angrily. "Honestly, fuck you, Richie. What are you even doing here?"

"I've been stalking you. Following your every move. Been getting a real intimate look into the life of Eddie Kaspbrak," Richie replies casually. "So far I'd give it a five out of ten. Too much crying and jacking off to medical textbooks."

"More like pictures of your sister," Eddie grumbles.

Richie grins, pushes off the wall and moves towards him. Eddie insulting him, or being crude towards him in any way, always makes his chest feel warm and fuzzy. He opens his arms, ready to swoop Eddie up in a hug. "Actually I've been following you because you're my favourite and I missed you and your sexy little fanny pack."

Eddie places a hand on Richie's chest when he gets close, making Richie pause with his arms still held out. Richie looks down at him, at the way Eddie sniffs and then scrunches up his nose, wrinkling the little line of freckles that splatters his skin as he looks Richie up at down. Delights in the fact that Eddie's ears are a little pink.

"You stink," Eddie says in disgust. He sniffs again. "Have you been...smoking?"

"I _am_ smoking," Richie replies. "Smoking hot."

Eddie frowns, ignores him. "So, what? You're into cigarettes now? I told you they're bad for you."

"You once told me that using too much _toothpaste_ is bad for me," Richie snorts. He slides an arm around Eddie's shoulders and feels his friend immediately try to shrug him off. "Have you ever considered, my dear Edgar Allan, that maybe I'm just a bad boy?"

Eddie doesn't say anything, lips pressed into a firm line. The lack of response to Richie's nickname for him is enough to tell Richie that Eddie is genuinely upset, or angry, or a mixture of those two things.

Truth be told, it's always a little nice to know that Eddie worries about him, that despite all of Eddie's sharp remarks and rolled eyes, he really does care about him. But Richie wishes sometimes that Eddie just...didn't. Worry about him, that is. The poor kid is a pent up ball of anxiety just waiting to pop. One pin prick and he'll explode. And Richie really doesn't want to be another source of stress in Eddie's life.

"Where are you off to?" Richie asks, decides they need a change of subject. Eddie finally manages to slip out of the arm Richie placed around his shoulders.

"Pharmacy," he replies. When Richie gives him a questioning look he adds, "For my mom. She's got the flu."

"The tables have turned," Richie says bitterly. He doesn't think he'll ever forgive Mrs K for what she did to Eddie, lying to him for all those years. Just to control him. She's the reason he's so anxious in the first place. He knows Eddie hasn't really forgiven her either. Their relationship is distant, a little cold. Speak only in short sentence, stiff and emotionless. Like strangers who've never made acquaintance.

Eddie had stayed over at Richie's place back when he found out. Couldn't stand to be in the same place as her.

And Richie had let Eddie take the bed while he curled up on the floor. Richie had told Eddie as many jokes as he could think of, and they had played games where one would start a silly story, and they would go back forth adding stupid sentence after stupid sentence until they were red faced and laughing up at the ceiling. And it was like maybe things would be okay now. Maybe things would get better.

But he'd also heard Eddie crying softly into his pillow when he thought Richie was asleep.

"Well," Richie says now, expectantly, because Eddie's been silent. "Are we going or not?"

_"We?"_

"Me and you. Richie and Eddie. We. Us. We're the dream team, Eds."

Eddie huffs at the nickname. "You really wanna go to the pharmacy with me?"

"I'd go to the ends of the earth with you, my love," Richie replies, rather poetically. If he does say so himself. "Pharmacies included."

Eddie crinkles his nose, and the corner of his lips jerks upwards, once, twice, and breaks open into laughter on the third. Eddie laughing is perhaps Richie's favourite thing, even more so than Eddie insulting him, and the warm fuzzy feeling in Richie's chest worms all the way down to his toes.

"You're so ridiculous," Eddie says, trying desperately to squash down his smile. Richie doesn't bother trying to hide his, just smiles like an idiot at the bright glint in Eddie's eyes.

"And you're cute," Richie says, pinching Eddie's cheek. Eddie swats him away, ears pink.

"Shut up." He nudges Richie with his shoulder. "Let's go."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Not even an hour later find Richie Tozier waiting outside of Eddie Kaspbrak's house, scuffing his shoes on the front porch with his hands in his pockets. Eddie had disappeared inside almost ten minutes ago, with the promise to give his mother her medication and be out as quickly as possible.

Guess something's holding him up. Richie wonders if Mrs K is giving Eddie a hard time, and then wonders if he should go in there.

Well, actually, he doesn't _wonder_ anything. Because that suggests that he actually spent some time thinking over his thoughts. Richie just lets them enter his head, and then he acts on them.

The Kaspbrak's house has always been one of Richie's least favourite places. It always feels rigid, meticulously cleaned and a little cold. He feels like if he takes one wrong breath, inhaling too quickly, exhaling too deeply, an alarm will go off. Something will break. Red lights will blare. It doesn't really looked lived in, so much as it's just a place to live. There's not any sort of clutter, no knickknacks or any real decorations. A few pictures of Eddie hanging on the wall, polished and perfectly straight. And a vase of plastic flowers on the little round dining table. And that's about it.

The only room Richie likes is Eddie's room, and that's only really when Eddie's in it.

He doesn't see anyone when he enters, strolling in with his hands still tucked away in his jean pockets, but he hears voices. Low murmuring coming from down the hall, where Mrs K's room is.

He's making his way over when Eddie suddenly emerges from the room, stepping out into the hall. They both pause. Eddie blinks at Richie in surprise.

"I thought I told you to wait outside," Eddie says, keeps his voice low.

"You were taking too long. I was bored. Do you have any food I can eat? I'm also starving."

Richie must speak too loudly, because Eddie goes still, and a croaky voice from his mother's room calls out, "Did you say something, Eddie?"

"Uh...no. I was...was just talking to myself," Eddie calls back. He ushers Richie away with frantic hands.

"It didn't sound like you. Is there someone else out there?" His mother pauses, and then adds, her voice a little off, "Is it... a _boy?"_

Eddie is now pushing Richie down the hall, and it's a mess of limbs but Richie can still see his face turn beet red. "No. It was just me. I'm going now. See you, ma."

It sounds like Mrs K says something else, but Richie doesn't hear it, because Eddie pushes him back out onto the front porch and slams the front door shut. Now would be the time to make a joke. As Eddie wipes his hands on his jeans, looking frazzled. But Richie can't think of anything to say. He's not entirely sure what just happened.

"Why'd you come inside? I told you to wait. Can you _really_ not stand still for five seconds?" Eddie rambles angrily.

"You know it pains me to go without you for longer than five minutes, Eddie Bear," Richie says, shifts back into his usual teasing with ease. "I miss your beautiful face too much."

Instead of the usual pinched look of disgust that Richie has come to know and love, Eddie wears an expression that looks almost frightened. He shoots a quick look back at the house.

"Shut up shut up shut up." He grabs Richie by the wrist and tugs him down the front lawn. "Let's just get out of here."

Richie frowns. Lets Eddie pull him along. "Is everything okay, Eds?"

"Don't call me that," Eddie snaps automatically. "Everything's fine. My mom just...doesn't like having people in the house. Especially people like _you_ , Trashmouth."

He finally lets go of Richie's wrist, and they walk side by side down the street. The sky is grey above them, a chilly wind pricks their skin. And Eddie hugs his arms around himself, baby blue sweater rustled by the wind, perfectly styled brown hair swept away from the little frown on his face. And Richie wonders if he should push, if he shouldn't let the topic drop. Something feels off about it. Feels wrong. But he doesn't really know what he'd be pushing for.


	2. Sixteen

It's a Sunday, around 3pm, and sixteen year old Richie Tozier is working alone for the first time. He's already decided that this is his new favourite shift. Sunday afternoons are turning out to be a real sweet spot where nobody comes in and he's allowed to snack behind the counter. He got a job at The Aladdin a couple months ago and while he likes having his co-workers around to annoy, he is very much enjoying his only company being the boys playing with the arcade machines on the other side of the foyer. Every now and then Richie will yell out helpful tips in defeating the video games, usually after he hears a set of annoyed groans and the telltale sound of a _Game Over_. The tips are all bullshit. Because Richie holds the high scores on those machines and he really doesn't want all his hard work to be ruined by a couple of eleven year olds.

"You up to level 3 yet? You gotta make sure to keep left on that one," Richie is calling out to the boys when the doors are pulled open and Bill, Bev, and Stan saunter in. It's almost a little crazy at how dramatically Richie's mood changes. He thought he was happy before, messing with those kids, but seeing his friends perks him up instantly, a smile splitting across his face.

"Aww, would you look at this," Richie coos as the trio make their way up to the counter. "My three bestest friends missed me so much they decided to come visit me at work."

"We were bored and decided to see a movie," Bev explains, leans comfortably against the counter.

"And actually we were hoping you wouldn't be here," Stan says.

"Oh, Stan," Richie sighs dramatically. "I know you're mean to me as a defence mechanism. You've got some walls up, I get that. But one day you're really going to have to come to terms with your undying love for me. And when you do, I'll be here. Waiting with open arms, and open legs-"

"Beep beep, Richie," Stan grumbles. Bill and Bev both erupt into laughter, and Richie gives them a wink.

"Well, then, what'll it be, my dear friends? What are you in the mood for? A romantic comedy? That sounds like you, Big Bill." The nickname is a little outdated, considering Richie was hit with a growth spurt at a startling force and sprouted up like a beanstalk last summer. He's half a head taller than Bill now. "Or...how about just a straight up romance? That sounds like me and you, Stan the Man."

"How about a tragedy?" Bev asks. "That sounds a lot like what I'm seeing right now."

Richie laughs and tugs playfully at her hair.

"G-give us tickets to that h-horror movie," Bill says. "The one that l-looks terrible. We wanted to m-make fun of it."

"I like your thinking," Richie says, tapping his temple. "Now, before you ask, no I _cannot_ give you a discount. Well, I mean, I could. But I don't want to."

"Aww, Rich," Bev coos, resting her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands. She flutters her eyelashes up at him. "I thought you loved us."

"I do," Richie says. "But I've had my heart broken by Stan too many times now." He turns his head away and presses a closed fist to his lips, eyes squeezed shut as though he's trying not to cry. "I just don't think I can give the man behind this pain a discount on his movie tickets."

"Look what you've done, Stan," say Bill and Bev simultaneously. Stan gapes at them, then at Richie - who quickly flattens out the grin that had been creeping along his lips - before throwing his hands up.

"Don't encourage him!" he says to Bill and Bev. When they both just shrug he crosses his arms irritably over his chest. "He'd give us a discount if Eddie was here."

That gives Richie a moment's pause. Wondering, exactly, what Stan is getting at. But he brushes it off quickly. "Eddie doesn't have my heart like you do, Stan."

And Stan snorts like that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

Richie rings them up - and he does, in the end, give them a discount - and as he's handing the tickets he asks casually, "Where are the others, anyway?"

"E-Eddie and Ben are studying at the library I t-think," Bill replies. "Mike's working at the farm."

"Like always," Bev sighs. "I feel I've hardly seen at him at all recently." She perks up, suddenly, as though hit by a thought. "Oh, yeah. Rich, we were gonna hang out at the Barrens afterwards. Just chill. Mike said he might be able to join us. You should come down after work."

"As long as there's something to smoke, I'll be there," Richie says. It's a nice day outside, he can see through the large, glass front windows. Sunny, a warm orange glow of the late afternoon. Sky clear. Richie's dying a little to get out and stretch his legs, feel the sun on his skin, get his hands on a cigarette. Bev taps the side of her nose, points at him.

His friends disappear into the cinema, the kids at the arcade leave, and Richie is left completely alone. For an hour an a half, until his friends come back out and wave him goodbye. Maybe he doesn't like this shift as much as he thought.

He finishes at 5pm, grabs his bike feeling restless and jittery. The Barrens is not too far by bike, only a few minutes away from the cigarette he's now downright _craving_ , but he takes a detour first.

Richie pulls up at the library. A little breathless from cycling so fast.

He doesn't come here often. In fact, Richie seriously doubts he's ever been here at all. So it takes a few moments to find what he wants. And to adjust to the vacuum of silence he's just stepped into. The air smells of dust and paper, walls lined with tall, brown shelves full of books and the centre filled with little desks that are mostly empty. It feels stuffy and a little claustrophobic. Not entirely pleasant. Though a smile still spreads across Richie's face when he see what he's looking for. Up near the back, sitting at a table with his head bent over a book. Wearing a navy blue t-shirt that is a little too big for him. Without missing a beat. Richie marches over, and slips into the empty seat next to him.

"Interrupting your study date?" he asks.

Both Eddie and Ben jolt in surprise.

"Richie - what the...what the _fuck_ are you doing here?" Eddie whispers, brown eyes wide. Richie loops an arm around the back of Eddie's chair, leans into his own comfortably.

"I'm here to get you two out of here. You know scientists say studying too much is bad for you. Your brain can't keep up with all the information, and eventually it'll just explode."

"Those scientists had to study to become scientists," Ben points out.

Richie raises his eyebrows. "You're... _right_ , Ben Handsome. I can't believe I was bamboozled."

"Why are you really here, Tozier?" Eddie asks, looking irritable. The way he glares at Richie now is probably meant to intimidating, but Richie just thinks he looks like a grumpy little kitten.

"Everyone's heading down to the Barrens." He's tempted to pinch Eddie's cheek, but decides against it (Eddie will probably yell and they'll get kicked out). He pinches his own thigh instead. "Just wanted to see if you guys wanted to hang out. Because you are my dear friends and I care for you. Also I don't know how you can stand to be in this place for long periods of time."

"Ben's helping me with my essay on Shakespeare that's due on Tuesday," Eddie huffs. "Have you even _started_ yours?"

"I didn't understand anything you just said. All talk of anything school related should be saved for school hours only," Richie says dismissively. "Now, are you coming to the Barrens, yes or no?"

"Man, I'd really love to say yes. But I can't tonight," Ben replies, shoulders sagging in disappointment. "Already promised to spend time with my parents. Sucks. Know you're gonna miss me, Rich."

"You're damn right I will," Richie says earnestly. He turns to Eddie, who is now leaning against the back of his seat, and thus leaning into the arm that Richie has rested there. The fabric of Eddie's shirt is soft against Richie's skin, radiates warmth. "Eds?"

Eddie groans, tilting his head back. It means he leans even heavier into Richie's arm. Richie's not quite so sure why he's suddenly so hyper-fixated on that point of contact. But he is.

"Ugh, fine, I'll go. It'll be nice to get out for a bit, I guess. My legs are kinda cramping. But me and Ben still have to edit the last two paragraphs of my essay. So tell the others I'll be there a little bit later."

"What, you think I'm just gonna leave?" Richie asks, scoffs. "You're wrong, Eddie Spaghetti. I'm gonna sit right here until you finish your essay. And then I'm gonna walk you to the Barrens like a gentleman."

Eddie furrows his brow, like he's not too pleased with that. But he doesn't say anything other than just a small _"Fine,"_ and Richie smiles triumphantly to himself and settles back in his seat.

And, you know, Richie's not too big on silences, or sitting still, or libraries. But he finds himself quite content to sit there and listen to Eddie talk about his essay. And to sit there and watch the way Eddie's tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth when he's scribbling down notes. And to crack a couple jokes - even if they _are_ school related - just to hear Eddie stifle laughter into his hand.

Richie just...really likes Eddie. Is the thing. And it's probably a little weird how much he _does_ like Eddie. Because he's not entirely sure he'd sit here in a place like this for anybody else. But then Eddie turns his head to smile at him, still laughing at some lame Shakespeare joke Richie made. And he's so warm against Richie's arm, and his doe brown eyes are crinkled at the edges, and Richie just doesn't care if it's weird. Eddie is his best friend. And he's funny and smart and quick witted and making him laugh is sometimes a challenge but it's always so worth it when Richie succeeds and he'd be happy to sit in a thousand libraries if it meant he could spend time with him.

They say goodbye to Ben when the essay's done. And Richie grabs his bike and walks beside it as he and Eddie make their way to the Barrens.

"You were working before, right? You smell a little like popcorn," Eddie says.

"Ooh, bet you wanna just eat me up." Richie grins.

"Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth, you always have to make everything weird."

Richie just laughs. "Yeah, I was working. Gotta save up that coin. I'll be able to buy a car soon. Then I'll take you on rides. We could go anywhere, Eds."

"Not if you keep calling me 'Eds'," Eddie grumbles. "Plus, there's no way I'd trust you in the driver's seat."

But Richie is suddenly not listening. He's looking out at the street in front of them. At the broken roads, at the weeds growing in the cracks in the sidewalks. At the crumbling houses, with junk in their yards, and dirt on their windows. They could go anywhere. They could get out of here.

They could _leave_.

He glances over at Eddie, who is already glancing over at him.

"We could leave this place, Eddie," Richie says. "God, imagine that? Not having to live in this trash dump anymore. We could go wherever we wanted. A different place every night."

Richie wouldn't have to live with his asshole parents anymore. But, even better than that, Eddie wouldn't have to live with his asshole _mother_ anymore. Richie's not too sure on the details of it all, but he knows that the relationship Eddie has with his mother has worsened over the past year. Eddie is always overly snappy, or weirdly quiet after he spends long periods of time at home. Richie wants to get him away from that, wants to take him somewhere where Eddie can be himself.

Eddie doesn't say anything. Looks away from Richie. Fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

"Just you wait, Spaghetti," Richie says. "Things are gonna change around here." The air feels charged, like suddenly anything is possible. Like big things are on the horizon. It buzzes beneath Richie's skin.

But when Eddie's silence remains, Richie adds, "But first, we'll worry about that essay due Tuesday."

Eddie smiles.


	3. Seventeen Part 1

It's a Friday, 11:34pm, and seventeen year old Eddie Kaspbrak is at a high school house party for the first time. The lights are dimmed, but the music is loud. Something thundering and rock heavy playing over the speakers. People are dancing, a swarm of bodies sharing body heat, making the room too warm, too closed in. People are shouting, loud voices carrying across the room, the occasional loud shriek, or shrill laugh, pierces Eddie's skin. And people are drunk. Stumbling through the crowds with dopey looks on their faces. Throwing up in the bathroom, so all you can hear when you go upstairs is the sound of retching. Groping anyone they can get their hands on, so Eddie has squashed himself into the corner of the living room, next to a book shelf and a little wooden table with a lamp on it. He's keeping a very good eye on the lamp, because occasionally someone will bump into the table and it'll wobble dangerously. And he always steadies it before it can fall.

Richie has ditched him.

And you know what? Fuck him. _Fuck_ Richie Tozier. Because he's the only reason Eddie is here in the first place. Had begged and pleaded. Promised him it'd be fun, that he'd be with him the whole time, that they'd dance and drink and then leave by midnight if Eddie didn't like it.

And now it's nearly twenty minutes to midnight, and Eddie very much doesn't like it, but Richie fucking disappeared into the crowd an hour ago and Eddie hasn't seen him since.

So fuck Richie Tozier. And fuck Eddie Kasprak for letting Richie talk him into this.

This is why he never goes to parties. Even when he _was_ with Richie, he hadn't been enjoying himself. Richie had led him through the crowd, straight to the alcohol. And he'd tried to get Eddie to drink, but Eddie didn't want to drink. And Richie had _begged_ and _pleaded_. And finally Eddie had given in, mostly because he was a little curious about what the whole fuss of alcohol was about. He'd taken a sip of the drink Richie had handed him, and then had almost immediately spat it back out.

"That's _disgusting_ ," he said, wiping his mouth and giving Richie a wide-eyed look. Richie had thrown his head back and laughed.

"Oh my god," he said. "You really are the cutest thing I've ever seen. Try another sip, Eds. It gets better."

"No." Eddie thrust the drink back into Richie's hands. "It's gross."

Richie took the drink with a smile, but didn't ask Eddie to drink again. He'd even gone so far as to getting Eddie a cup of water, that Eddie had sipped on for most of the night, trailing behind Richie as he manoeuvred through the crowd. Stopping every now and then to talk to someone.

It had been so _boring_. Eddie didn't like any of those people (he was sure Richie didn't either, but Richie liked talking, and so took every opportunity to do so), and none of the other Losers were here. Usually Richie and Bev went to parties like this together, and occasionally the others would tag along. Eddie never did. But none of the others had been free tonight, so Richie had asked Eddie to go with him.

"Well, there's really no point in me being here now, is there, Tozier?" Eddie grumbles to himself, his gaze on the lamp. "Considering you fucking _ditched me_."

He has half a mind to just leave. But, if he's honest, he's not too confident in pushing back through the crowd by himself. Everyone hit their growth spurts about two or three years ago, and Eddie is still a head shorter than them all. He'd probably get lost in all those dancing bodies. He doesn't even know where the front door is.

God. He's going to die here, isn't he? In this corner. With only this fucking lamp for company. Fuck you, Richie. Fuck you fuck you fuck you...

"Richie!"

He claps his hands over his mouth. The word had escaped him as he spotted his friend through a gap in the crowd. And it sounded much happier and enthusiastic than he'd expected. Because, you know, he really does hate Richie right now. But it's still a relief to see him.

There's a problem though: Richie is on the other side of the room. So Eddie has to push and shove his way through all those people to get to him. Though, it's more like all those people push and shove _him_. Eddie gets an elbow in the ribs, and someone steps on his foot, and his hair's a mess by the time he finally makes it to the other side.

Richie is leaning against the wall, a drink in his hand, and his body turned towards a very pretty girl. They're just talking, but for some reason the sight makes Eddie's stomach churn.

He marches right up to him.

"Hey, _asshole_." Richie jolts at the punch at Eddie lands on his arm, sloshes his drink over himself. He looks confused a moment, and then his face breaks into a smile.

"Eddie! I thought I lost you, buddy," he says.

The response is chipper, as though they'd only been separated for a few minutes. Not an entire _hour_. Eddie feels like he's about to explode. "What do you _mean_ you thought you lost me? You fucking ditched me!"

The girl is watching them in something like alarm, but Eddie doesn't care. Fuck her, too.

"What...?" Richie begins, face caving into a puzzled frown.

"Whatever, it's midnight. I'm going home. This fucking sucked," Eddie says. Richie's frown deepens even further.

"Midnight...? Eddie, what...?" Eddie begins to turn away, but Richie grabs his wrist and yanks him back. "How long were we separated for? It can't be midnight yet."

"Yes, it's midnight, Richie. We've been fucking separated for over an hour." He tries to pull away, but Richie's grip on his wrist is tight. "Let me go."

"Oh, fuck..." Now, Richie lets go of his wrist. He presses the hand to his head. Eddie suddenly becomes aware of the way he's staggering on his feet. "I'm...I'm drunker than I thought. Eddie, I didn't...I didn't realise. I'm so fucking sorry."

" _Whatever,_ Richie," Eddie says again. Great to know that Richie decided to get drunk when he disappeared, instead of trying to find Eddie, like Eddie had tried to find him. Just great. "I'm going. See you tomorrow. Or...whenever. I don't fucking care."

He begins to stalk away in the direction he _hopes_ leads to front door. Doesn't care so much about the claustrophobia, just surges through the crowd until he finds what he's looking for. It's a relief to step outside. The air a lot cooler, lighter, crisp. Scurries down the front lawn, past all the people smoking on the front porch and talking on the grass, until it is just a quiet street around him, a dark night sky above him.

He breathes in, out. His heart pounding in his chest. His arms shaking. For a second, he feels as though he's about to cry.

"Eddie! Eddie, wait!"

Richie is right behind him, and Eddie should walk even faster, but for some reason he stops. And then Richie is right beside him.

"Eddie," Richie breathes. "I'm so sorry. I don't even know what I was thinking...I _wasn't_ thinking. Fuck...I can't...I _can't_ think. My head's all fucking foggy. But I'm so, so fucking sorry."

Eddie presses his lips together, stares determinedly down at the ground. He doesn't know what to say. He feels angry of course but...now he feels so _stupid_. No one else would be upset like this. Because everyone else could just go to that fucking party and fucking enjoy themselves like a normal person. But instead Eddie needed Richie to fucking _babysit_ him because he was too anxious to be on his own.

"Eddie..." Richie says again, voice soft. And suddenly a warm hand cups Eddie's jaw, tilts it up to look at him. Eddie blinks up at Richie's face, which is close. Large brown eyes magnified by his coke bottle glasses, messy black curls tousled over his forehead. He sharpened out over the years, all angles. Jaw widened and set, edged like a knife, cheek bones sharp. Eddie's throat goes dry. "I fucked up. It was a real dick move, what I did. And I'm sorry, Eddie. I really, really am. Please, _please_ don't hate me forever now."

Richie's eyes flick back and forth between Eddie's own. He brushes his thumb across Eddie's cheek, and it's a gentle touch, warm. Eddie stares deeply into Richie's gaze. A gaze that's been there for as long as he can remember, a gaze that has held steady through Eddie's panic attacks, has glinted brightly during the days where Eddie felt like he was walking around with a dark cloud over his head. The anger fades, slightly. Because Eddie's staring into the face of his best friend. And anger never hangs around long when he's around.

"I don't hate you," Eddie says finally, voice quiet. "It's okay. But you _are_ an asshole."

Then he lifts the corner of his mouth, to signal that it's lighthearted, and Richie beams.

"And I'm never going to a party with you again," Eddie adds. "They're overrated anyway. And alcohol is really just disgusting. I don't get the appeal at all and..."

He pauses when Richie leans forwards, and Eddie's heart soars suddenly to the roof of his mouth, but Richie keeps leaning until he can bury his face Eddie's neck.

"I can live with that," he says, and his breath tickles against Eddie's skin, and sends a tingling sensation throughout his entire body. _Shit, shit, shit?_ What is happening right now. Richie nuzzles deeper into Eddie's neck and Eddie knows Richie's smiling because he can feel it against his skin and it feels so _good_. "You smell nice," Richie says.

He grabs Eddie's waist and pulls Eddie against him. Their bodies flush together, only heat between them. Eddie's heart is hammering, like he's about to have a fucking panic attack.

"Mmm," Richie hums into his neck. "Your skin's so soft, Eds. And you smell so good. Did I say that already? So fucking good."

It's then that Eddie remembers Richie's drunk.

"That's because I actually shower, Richie," Eddie says, getting a hand between them. He places it on Richie's chest, which is firm (and that's _nice_ for some reason) and pushes him away. "You should try it some time."

"Maybe we can do it together," Richie says with a wink. "You can show me how you make yourself smell so delicious."

Eddie's face burns red. "Shut up. I'm still pissed at you, you know."

Richie's smile drops. "Right. Sorry. But you don't hate me, though. Which is good. I think I'd die if you hated me, Eds."

"Yeah I don't hate you," Eddie says, face still hot. "Though I might if you keep calling me 'Eds'." He tugs at Richie's sleeve. "Let's just get you home."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Richie's house is empty when they get there. But it pretty much always is. They stagger up the stairs and Richie kicks open the door to his room. Which is, to put it nicely, a fucking disaster zone. The walls are plastered with posters, so much so that there's barely a sliver of white paint left, and clothes are strewn across the floor. Richie's desk is covered with old food packaging, crumbled pieces of paper, and tens of cassette tapes. It always smells like too much spray on deodorant and cigarette smoke. 

"Home sweet home," Richie says. He trips over a pair of lazily discarded shoes on the way in and almost face plants on the floor. Eddie bursts out laughing.

"You're an idiot," Eddie says.

Richie straightens up only to flop back onto his bed. The mattress springs creak beneath him. Even from where Eddie stands in the doorway, he can see the dopey smile on Richie's face.

"I'll live happily as an idiot if it makes you laugh like that, Spaghetti."

"I don't know what you're saying. You're drunk. And your room's a mess." Eddie kicks at a small pile of clothes and he carefully begins to pick his way closer to the bed.

Richie sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and planting his feet on the floor. He watches Eddie move closer.

"I'd have cleaned it if I knew I was gonna bring someone home," Richie says. "Especially someone as pretty as you, Eddie Bear."

"Go trip over those shoes again," Eddie retorts. He's thinking, suddenly, of that pretty girl Richie had been talking to at the party. He wonders if Richie had been hoping to bring _her_ home. If Richie wished that she was here now, instead of him.

He stops a few feet in front of Richie. And he's not entirely sure what he's still doing here, in Richie's bedroom, staring down at him while Richie's staring back. He thinks, if the girl was here in his place, she'd move right in front of Richie and wrap her arms around his neck. And Richie would place his hands on her waist and pull her closer.

She'd straddle his waist. He'd kissed her neck. And Eddie would be at home.

But he's not at home. He's here.

"Hey," Richie murmurs. He holds his arm out, crooks a finger. "C'mere."

Eddie moves forward slowly. Richie keeps his arm out, and when Eddie is close enough, he grips Eddie's waist. Pulls him closer until Eddie's legs are bumping against Richie's. Richie puts his other hand on him, and his hands are so warm, so big, on his waist that Eddie's stomach flips itself over.

What is he doing. What he is still _doing here_.

Richie's thumbs rub small circles into Eddie's hipbone. His neck craned so he can look up at him. The dim light of the bedroom shines on the column of Richie's exposed neck, the bob of his Adams apple.

"You're not wearing your sexy little fanny pack." Richie grins. "You know that shit turns me on."

Eddie stiffens, and then tries to pull away. He feels stupid. Richie's drunk. He's poking fun. _What is he still doing here._

"Wait," Richie says, tightening his grip on Eddie's waist. "Eddie. I'm sorry that you had such a shitty night. I really acted like a shitty friend. And...fuck, Eddie. I care about you so much. If some other guy had treated you the way I treated you tonight, I'd have beat the shit out of him. But I was an idiot. And I let myself get distracted..."

"It was a party, Richie," Eddie interrupts. Richie blinks. "When you say you let yourself get distracted, you're saying you let yourself have _fun_. Instead of worrying about me. Which is...you shouldn't _have_ to worry about me at a party. I mean, it's a _party_ , for chrissake. I'm just too much of a fucking pussy..."

"Hey, what. Don't say that, Eds. I promised to stay by your side the whole night and I broke that promise," Richie says. "I should have one hundred percent of the blame here. Don't try and put any of it on yourself."

"Yeah, but when you go to parties with Bev do you promise to stay by _her_ side the whole night?" Eddie points out. "You don't have to. Because she can enjoy a party like a normal person. I'm just saying. You shouldn't have had to make that promise in the first place."

Richie frowns. He still holds Eddie's waist, and he grips it a little tighter. It takes Eddie a moment to realise that Richie's opening his legs, and pulling Eddie between them. They're impossibly close now. Richie's head tipped back to look at him through his glasses, eyes wide but darkened by Eddie's shadow.

"I don't mind making that promise. I'd do anything for you, Eddie." His voice is low, murmured between barely opened lips because Eddie's close enough that he doesn't need to be loud. "Just please don't blame yourself, okay?"

Their combined heat is almost dizzying.

"Okay," Eddie whispers quietly back. His heart is hammering in his chest. "I'd do anything for you, too."

A smile tugs at Richie's lips. "Yeah?"

Eddie swallows thickly. "Yeah."

Richie tries to pull Eddie closer, but he can't get any closer. There's nothing between them, their bodies so nicely flushed together. At some point, Eddie put his hands on Richie's shoulders to keep his balance as he leans into him. He can't remember doing it. But he knows he doesn't want to take them away.

"Do you think..." Richie begins. His voice is so, so low. "Do you think you could kiss me, Eds?"

And Eddie can't breathe. God, he can't fucking breathe. He looks down at Richie's lips, at the way Richie swipes his tongue over them, leaves them wet and glistening in the light. And he knows, he _knows_ that Richie is staring at his lips.

And he _wants_ to. Do you think you could kiss me, Eds? He wants to, he wants to.

_He shouldn't fucking want to._

"Richie..." he says, but it comes out more like a gasp. "Richie, I...you're drunk. You're drunk, Richie."

It seems to take a moment, like maybe Richie is struggling to work through the hazy fog in his brain, but eventually he seems to catch up to speed. And he drops his hands from Eddie's waist, and Eddie steps back, and finally feels like he can breathe.

"Oh," Richie says. His face is scrunched up a little, in concentration. "I'm..." He looks over Eddie. "I'm sorry, Eds..."

"It's okay," Eddie says quickly. He needs to get out of here. Needs to get away. "It's fine, I, uh. Really should get going. Ma's probably worried about me I...I'll see you later."

He's already scrambling out of the room before Richie can say anything else.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eddie's mother _is_ worried when he gets home.

"Did you drink?" she asks, almost as soon as Eddie bursts through the front door. She's sitting at the dining table, but she bolts to her feet when she sees him. "Were there drugs there? _Boys?"_

"Of course there were fucking boys there," Eddie snaps. He's not in the mood for her. He's _never_ in the mood for her.

"Don't speak to me like that, Eddie. You know what I meant."

"Were there any _gay_ boys there?" Eddie says, raising his voice. He turns around to face her, fists clenched. She looks startled at his outburst. "Were there any flaming homosexual boys there that wanted to suck my flaming homosexual dick? Is that you meant, ma? Is that you wanted to fucking say?"

"Eddie!" she gasps, horrified.

"Well, I don't know, ma. Maybe there were. Or maybe I'm the only gay boy in all of Derry and you've gotten your fucking wish. Because I won't be "tainted" by a man, like you think I will be. I'll be alone. Forever." He turns around and heads towards the stairs. Stomping up them a little louder than he should be.

"You're acting like this because of that dreadful Tozier boy," his mother says curtly. "I never should have let you go out with him tonight. He's such a bad influence on you..."

Eddie whips back around to face her. "Don't fucking talk about him."

Anger courses through him, hot and sharp. Boils beneath his skin. But something else constricts his throat. And something else pricks his eyes. A plethora of emotions striking him at all once. His mother watches him, and a sort of dawning comes across her face.

"Oh no," she says. "Eddie. Don't tell me you..."

"What?" he snaps, but he sounds slightly stricken.

"You don't... _care_ for him do you? For Richie Tozier? In a...in the homosexual sort of way?"

Eddie feels like he's been punched in the gut. "He's my _friend_. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I get creepy gay feelings for every boy I go near. I can have male friends, ma. Fucksake."

"Eddie..."

"I'm going to bed," Eddie interrupts. "I don't want to talk to you anymore." He hurries his way up the rest of the stairs, rushes into his bedroom, and slams his door shut.

He doesn't stop moving until all his clothes are off, left only in only his boxers, and he's buried deep in his blankets on his bed. And then he cries. Like a dam burst. It racks his body. Tears along his throat. He sobs pathetically into his pillow.

His mother found out he was gay when he fifteen.

It had gone like this:

Eddie had arrived at the Barrens before any of the other Losers. And, bored, decided to wander.

He'd found a magazine discarded a clump of bushes. Usually he'd had left it. Adverse to touching anything gross like that. But a picture on one of the pages caught his eye. And he was a curious, hormonal teenage boy. So he'd snatched it up, tucked it into his fanny pack and taken it home.

And he'd enjoyed it for about a week - 'enjoyed' not quite being an accurate term here. Considering all the guilt he'd also felt while he was looking at it. But, still, he'd had it for about a week before his mother decided she wanted to 'clean his room'.

Meaning: snoop around in it because she can be a real nosy bitch.

She'd found it, almost passed out, and confronted him when he got home. Couldn't _believe_ that her precious Eddie would have a gay porn magazine in his room. He'd tried to lie about it. But she didn't believe him. And she'd cried. And yelled. And cried some more. And Eddie had cried too. Much like he's crying now.

God, he's so fucking stupid. He hates this. Hates everything. Because his mother is right. God, she's _right._

He cares about Richie. He likes Richie. He can still feel Richie all over him. The ghost of his breath on his neck. The warmth of his hands on his waist.

_Do you think you could kiss me, Eds?_

He'd wanted to. More than anything. He'd wanted to press his lips against Richie's and drown in him. Climb onto his lap and gasp Richie's name into his mouth. He wishes he had. He wishes he was there right now, doing just that.

But Richie was drunk. He didn't really want that.

If only Eddie wasn't stone cold sober, so he'd have an excuse for why he _did._

But there's no excuse. Not anymore. He's been excusing himself for years.

There's only this:

He wants Richie Tozier. And Richie Tozier doesn't want him.


	4. Seventeen Part 2

It's a Tuesday, around 4pm, and seventeen year old Richie Tozier is sitting in his new truck for the first time.

Well, it's not exactly "new". It's new to Richie at least. But it's most definitely not new to the world around him. The truck doesn't actually work. Just a rust bucket on wheels. But it was cheap, and it had heart, and it _will_ work, once he and the Losers are done with it.

"You need to name her, Richie," Bev says, from where she lounges on the bonnet. She leans back on her hands behind her, tilts her face up at the sky. Afternoon sunlight catches in her fiery hair, gleams gold on her fair skin. "The truck's not really yours until you give her a name."

"Maybe I'll name it after you, Bev," Richie says. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bill and Ben marvelling at her the same way he is. "You goddamn angel."

Bev tilts her head back to blow him a kiss.

"You should just call it Ugly," Eddie grumbles from where he's sitting, arms wrapped around his legs. Aside from Bev, who's sitting on the truck, and Mike, who's sitting in the truck, the rest of Losers are sitting on the grass in Richie's back yard. They'd all managed to push the truck there together, where they'll be fixing it up over the next couple weeks. "Because it's ugly."

"Wow," Stan snorts. "Creative."

"Blunt and factual," Richie says, as though Stan hadn't spoken. "I like it."

"I-it won't be ugly when we're d-done with it, though," Bill points out.

"Good point," Richie says. "Always thinking, Big Bill."

"What do you wanna call her, Richie?" Ben asks.

"Hmm." Richie puts on a big show of tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I should name her after one of the many other girls I've ridden. "Eddie's mom" seems to be the number one choice."

He grins at the chorus of groans and "Beep beep, Richie's" that follow.

They argue over names for the next half hour. Laughing, mostly, at everyone's ridiculous suggestions. Eventually, the Losers begin to taper off, one by one. Bill, then Ben, then Mike, then Stan. All have other things to do. Bev leaves not too soon after Stan, kissing both Eddie and Richie on the cheek and waving as she hurries down the drive.

And then it's just Richie and Eddie. We. Us. The dream team.

Eddie looks around as though he's not quite sure how he ended up being the last to leave.

"Uh. Guess I'll see you-" Eddie begins, a little awkwardly.

"Not so fast, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie interrupts. "I have something I want to show you."

Eddie blinks, raises his shoulders as though raising a wall of defence. Something heavy settles in Richie's stomach at the sight. Eddie's been acting a little weird around him. Has been for around a month. He's quiet, and they don't hang out like they use to. Only really see each other in a group setting. It's kinda killing Richie slowly, if he's honest.

He leads Eddie over to his shed. It's just as rusted as his truck, and the window on the front is smashed in. Some of the metal wall panelling has been ripped out. Richie struggles with the door a moment before wrenching it open.

Eddie pokes his head inside and frowns.

"What did you want to show me?" he asks. "There's nothing in here. Just some old furniture and a shit ton of spider webs."

" _This_ is it, Edgar Allan," Richie says. He gestures broadly at the shed. "It's not really about what's inside, but the potential for what could be inside."

Eddie just looks at him blankly.

"We're gonna turn this shed into something beautiful, Eds. Clean it out, dress it up. It could be our little home away from home. Look, there's already a couch in there."

"Don't call me Eds," Eddie says grumpily. He folds his arms over his chest. "And why do _I_ have to help you clean this place up? I'm already helping you with the truck."

"You wound me, Eddie," Richie says. And it's phrased as a joke, but there's a truth to it. "We're the dream team. The dynamic duo. You're the only person I trust with this. And it'll be just for you and me."

Eddie presses his lips together, looking unconvinced.

"You won't have to help me with the truck if you do this," Richie says. And he's kinda begging now. He just really _really_ wants to hang out with Eddie again. "Actually, you don't have to help me with the truck either way. I'm gonna get Bill, Mike and Bev to do most of the work. But don't tell them that."

The corner of Eddie's mouth twitches, and it's barely a smile, but it's enough to ignite a flame in Richie's chest.

"Mmm, maybe," Eddie says. "I'll think about it."

Richie ruffles his hair affectionately. Eddie swats him away. "Take all the time you need, my dear Eddie Confetti. I'll be here when you come to the right choice. Which is yes, by the way. But I do also accept 'no's. They just cost extra."

"You're ridiculous," Eddie replies. Richie swears he hears laughter in his voice. "I'll see you later."

Richie watches Eddie walk down the driveway until he's completely out of sight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Losers come over nearly everyday after that. Richie's house, once an empty shell of a home - with parents that were never there and a boy who couldn't stand to be in its empty walls - becomes a hub of activity. At any point in time there'll be someone rummaging through the fridge, someone lazing on the couch, two or three of them kicking the old TV to get it work. And, of course, they all hang out in the back yard, fixing up the truck. They spend a lot of time picking through junkyards and Mike brings some stuff from his farm, and Stan gets some stuff from his neighbours. And they get to work replacing a lot of the trucks outer-shell. Replace one of the doors that had been almost completely rusted through, clean out the interior, wipe down the thickly dust-coated windows. It's a lot of work, and mostly physically demanding. And they get distracted a lot. But Richie doesn't care if it takes months to finish. Because now that he's surrounded by people at home, he realises how truly empty it is at night, when the lights are out and only the echo of his friends' laughter is left bouncing off the walls.

Eddie still hasn't gotten back to Richie about working on the shed. Which is fine, Richie _did_ said he could take all the time he needed. But Eddie doesn't come over nearly as much as the others do, and Richie _misses_ him.

He's not entirely sure what's wrong. He thought, maybe, Eddie's mom was just being more difficult than usual. But Eddie is usually only quiet or grumpy for a day or two if that's the case. Some part of Richie's brain keeps dragging it back to that stupid party he took Eddie to around a month ago. He doesn't remember much, just vague pieces here and there. But he remembers feeling angry...not at Eddie, though, at himself. And he thinks Eddie was angry at him, too.

But he also remembers Eddie saying that he doesn't hate him. He remembers that very clearly, because of the relief he felt when he heard it. And he remembers that Eddie walked him home.

And at night, when it's quiet, he thinks he remembers sitting on his bed, with his hands on Eddie's waist and Eddie between his legs. But it's so vague, fuzzy. He desperately tries to chase the memory, but it always slips from his grasp.

Eddie's hands on his shoulders...Eddie flush against him...Eddie's wide brown eyes and cheeks tinted pink...Richie's not sure if it had actually happened...or if he just _wishes_ it had happened.

A scary thought. Scary either way. Because friends, even best friends, don't hold each other like that, and they definitely don't wish they had.

"Hey, Rich, I thought you might like this," Mike says. It's been a week since Richie got his truck, and the Losers, minus Bill and Stan, are all in Richie's backyard. Mike stands in front of him, dangling a car air freshener from his fingers. "Smells like a pine forest."

"You sure know how to spoil a man, Micycle," Richie says. "Pine forest is in my top five favourite scents. Along with calming ocean breeze and good puss-"

"Beep _beep_ , Trashmouth," Mike interrupts with a laugh. He shoves Richie's shoulder playfully. "A simple thank you works just fine."

Richie grins. "Thank you."

Mike lifts the air freshener. "I'll go put this in the truck."

Richie nods, and his gaze travels as Mike turns away. Eddie is on the other side of the yard, chatting to Beverly as they fill up buckets of soapy water. He's wearing his little shorts - dark navy blue and a faded blue-grey t-shirt - and a pair of knee-high socks. He's been wearing that a lot recently, because of the hot weather. Richie's gaze always lingers, has  _always_ lingered, even when they were younger, but he used to think it was because the outfit was ridiculous. Things have been muddled recently, though. Richie's not quite sure where his head's at. And it only got worse with a dream he had a couple nights ago.

They'd been on Richie's bed, he and Eddie, in the dream. Eddie had been lying under him, with his cheeks flushed. Richie had been kissing Eddie's thighs, just below the hem of his little shorts. He'd peppered little kisses all the way down Eddie's soft skin until he reached his knee high socks. And then he'd pulled them down to Eddie's ankles with his teeth.

He'd woken up with his mouth tasting like cotton, a tent in his pants, and the certainty that best friends did not dream about each other like that.

So, yeah. Things with Richie recently have been...not so great.

Still, it doesn't stop him from whispering a little "Looking good, Kaspbrak," when he passes by Eddie a little later, and delighting in the way Eddie turns pink.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later finds Richie working behind the counter at The Aladdin. He feels restless, wishes he was outside working on the truck. The Aladdin is _packed_ because a new movie is out. Richie can't even remember the name of it. Has been so out of it lately. He just rings up the tickets and smiles at the customers and watches the clock.

He knows that Eddie, Mike and Stan are planning to come by to watch a movie at some point today. It's probably going to be the highlight of his day. Seeing Eddie is always a highlight.

The glass front doors pull open and a familiar baby blue fanny pack catches Richie's eye.

Speak of the devil.

Eddie doesn't see Richie as he makes his way to the back of the foyer to wait for Mike and Stan, because the crowd is in the way. But Richie keeps an eye on him and his cute little shorts, so much so that he's completely distracted.

"You alright?" mumbles one of his coworkers when they're both at the popcorn machine.

"Just dandy," Richie replies. But he glances back over at Eddie, and it just gets worse.

Eddie is talking to someone. No, not just someone. He's talking to Alex Thompson, a tall, tanned, talkative guy from school. Richie doesn't know much about Alex, except for that he's perhaps more annoying than he, Richie, is, and that he's all over Eddie right now.

He leans against a hand that he's placed on the wall near Eddie's head, and every now and then he'll touch Eddie's arm, or shoulder, or - Richie's chest constricts - pokes his fingers into Eddie's hip. Eddie is smiling, but he has his arms folded over his chest, and he shuffles back after every touch. Alex just shifts closer.

 _Come on, Mike, Stan...anyone. Hurry up and get here_ , Richie thinks, glancing desperately over at the front doors. _Jesus, Stan, when are you ever late?_

But Mike and Stan don't come. And Richie is gritting his teeth so hard it hurts. So he waits until the crowd thins out, and then he ducks around the counter, and he makes his way across the foyer.

"Look who it is!" Richie says, loudly, and a little obnoxiously. He wraps his arms around Eddie and lifts him off his feet in a hug. Alex takes a surprised step back. _"Eddie Spaghetti!"_

"What the... _Richie!_ Put me down!" Eddie yelps. Richie places him back on his feet, but keeps his arms tightly secured around Eddie's middle. He rests his chin on Eddie's hair as he smirks over at Alex.

"What's up, Thompson. Life treating you good?" Alex doesn't have a chance to reply before Richie is snatching the movie ticket Alex holds out of his hand. He glances at it. "Your movie's started. Cinema 3. Don't wanna miss it."

Alex blinks. "I don't care. The beginning is always the worst bit. Eddie --"

"You really gotta be in the cinema now," Richie interrupts. "We won't be allowed to let you in any later than this. It's disruptive." And a lie.

Alex's expression is dark. Richie smiles sweetly at him.

"Better get in there quick. Or else that ticket will be a waste of money."

"Yeah, whatever," Alex grumbles. He glances down at Eddie, and Richie hugs him tighter. "See you, Eddie." And with that, Alex is gone. Richie smiles triumphantly to himself.

Eddie tears himself out of Richie's grip. And Richie's expecting fire and rage, but Eddie gives him a sheepish smile.

"Thanks," he says. Looks up at Richie through his lashes. "For getting rid of him. He was being really annoying."

"Of course. Anything for you, Eds," Richie replies. And it's sincere. "Only _one_ obnoxious person is allowed to get in a three foot radius of you and your delicious fanny pack, and that person is me."

Eddie grins, rolls his eyes. But then he pauses, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. "Hey. You know...about that shed. The one in your backyard. I'd...really like to work on it with you. If that's still okay."

"That's more than okay. I'm glad you finally saw the light." Richie says, words tumbling out his mouth faster than usual. Excitement is suddenly coursing through him. "Can you come over tonight? We can get started straight away."

Eddie hesitates, and for a moment Richie is worried he's said the wrong thing. But then:

"Yeah. Okay. I'll see you tonight."

And suddenly Richie is feeling the best he has for over a month.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After work, Richie cleans out the shed a bit. Sweeps and dusts and gets rids of the spiderwebs, so it's not too gross when Eddie gets here. Then he waits. And he waits. And the sun starts to set. The sky turns a brilliant orange. And he waits.

Eddie is late.

It's fine. It's okay. Eddie has to bike all the way over. And he was probably still hanging out with Mike and Stan or something. Just lost track of time.  
Richie waits.

And waits. 

And waits.

It's nearly dark by the time Eddie rides up the drive, drops his bike in the grass of Richie's back lawn, and gives him a breathless smile. And if it was anyone else, Richie would give them shit for keeping him waiting. _Jesus, Bill, did you stop to bang Eddie's mom on the way? That should've only lasted you three minutes. Stan, you know every time you're late I just assume you lost track of time while you were jerking off to your bird pics._

But it's not anyone else. It's Eddie. And his hair is windswept, cheeks flushed from his ride over. And he looks excited, exhilarated, for some reason. Smiling with all his pearly white teeth. And Richie can't be mad at him.

He wants to kiss him.

"Sorry I'm late," Eddie says. He doesn't give any explanation as to _why_ , exactly, he's late. But the way he's smiling suggests that it's something nice to think about.

"That's fine. I don't mind waiting for you, Edgar Allan." Richie says. "But smile any wider and I'll assume you took forever because you were finally getting laid."

Not even that is enough to deter Eddie's smile. Just shakes his head. Richie sorta wishes that Eddie had told him off, because the joke kinda left a bad taste in his mouth.

They begin work on the shed as the last of the sun fades over the horizon. Inside, there's a faded old couch without any couch cushions, a wooden cabinet with only one door, an old rolled up rug that Eddie decides is probably full of spiders, and won't let Richie unravel, a small metal, circular table, and lots of empty cardboard boxes that they begin throwing out. They push the couch and cabinet up against the wall - Richie's sure cushions will be easy to find - to music that Richie plays over his stereo. Lit only by the singular light-bulb hanging from the ceiling. It flickers and doesn't reach the corners of the room.

The most pressing thing they need to deal with are the holes in the walls. All they need are some slabs of metal to patch them up, but Richie doesn't have anything like that in the backyard.

"The junkyard would be loaded with shit like that," Richie says, while Eddie tries to find the best spot for the table. "It's like a metal slab buffet."

"We could go tomorrow," Eddie says.

"Or we could go tonight."

Eddie frowns at him. "It's dark outside."

"So? That just adds to the adventure." Richie grins. "It'll be fun. And besides, we'll probably be working on the truck tomorrow. We're gonna have to do a lot of this stuff at night if it's just gonna be you and me."

"But we won't be able to see shit. I'll probably step on a rusty nail and get tetanus. That shit's fucking dangerous, you know. I could die."

Richie wraps an arm around Eddie's shoulders. Surprisingly, Eddie doesn't try to shove him off, and Richie gives him a squeeze. "I won't let anything happen to you, Spaghetti. And if a rusty nail even so much as _looks_ at you funny, I'll beat the shit out of it."

Eddie snorts. "Then _you'd_ get tetanus, dipshit."

"It'd be worth it."

Eddie rolls his eyes but he agrees, in the end. And that's how they end up climbing over the junkyard's fence with flashlights held between their teeth at 8pm.

It's incredibly dark, even with their flashlights on. And creepy. The piles of junk around them like large, eerie shadows. For a moment, Richie thinks he sees a pair of glowing eyes glaring at him, but he realises its only some glass bottles glinting in the moonlight.

Something howls at the moon, and there's the sound of metal scraping, and Richie jumps when he accidentally steps on a stick.

"Scary, eh, Eds?" Richie whispers. His own heart is pounding. Just a little.

Eddie's face is lit partly by his flashlight, and his wide brown eyes meet Richie's. He looks spooked, but he shakes his head.

"Only scary thing in here is you, Trashmouth," he says.

"Good one." Richie begins to move forwards. Slowly. He's thinking about that howl he heard and whether or not there are feral dogs in here. "Feel free to hold my hand if it gets too spooky."

They pick through the junk, careful to keep quiet. And they don't find much, though Richie finds an old hunting hat that he scoops up and tugs down over Eddie's head. Eddie wrenches it off so quickly you'd think it burnt him. Richie's laughter is interrupted by another loud howl.

Richie freezes. That howl sounded a lot closer than the one he heard before. Shit, there was definitely at least _one_ feral dog in here. Could it smell fear? No, it could probably just hear them being dumbasses.

Something bumps against him, he feels warm skin, and then he realises that Eddie has slipped his hand into his own.

And suddenly his fear is replaced with a warmth that bursts from his chest and flushes his face red. He can't even think of anything funny to say. Doesn't want to, because then Eddie might pull away. And he likes how soft Eddie's hand is, and how it's a lot smaller than his own, and the fact that Eddie's arm is pressed against him and...

"We...might be about to get eaten alive by feral dogs," Richie whispers.

There's a loud bark from somewhere in front of them. Richie flashes his light frantically into the dark.

"Don't do that!" Eddie hisses. He tugs at Richie's hand. "Now it knows exactly where we are!"

"Oh, shit, you're right." Richie turns his flashlight off quickly. "And I probably just pissed it off."

"We need to get out of here."

"But the metal--" There's a loud growl. Through the darkness, the faint moonlight, Richie can see a large animal figure slowly stalking towards them. "Never mind. Run."

They back off cautiously at first, hands clasped tightly between them. And then they turn around and scramble back the way they came.

It's a mad rush back to the fence. Richie hoists Eddie up first, and Eddie's so frenzied when he climbs over that he slips and falls on the other side. He lands on his hands and knees with a little _oof._

"Shit, you alright, Eddie?" Richie calls, quickly climbing up after him.

"I'm fine! Just hurry up!"

Richie lands on his feet next to him just as the dog launches itself at the fence, barking loudly, baring its teeth. Richie and Eddie don't waste a second getting back to their bikes.

And they don't stop, pedalling madly until they're back on Richie's street, like the dog could still be behind them at any moment. They drop their bikes on Richie's back lawn when they're finally back home, and then collapse onto the grass beside them. Completely out of breath, hearts pounding. Richie lays on his back and stares up at the star speckled sky as he gasps air into his lungs.

"Well," he says after a few moments. When the night starts to smooth over the hysteria. "At least no one got tetanus."

And Eddie bursts out laughing.

Richie laughs, too. Far too much and for far too long, because maybe he's still a little hyped up on adrenaline. He sits up and looks at Eddie, who is sitting up and looking at him. Eddie has his legs bent up in front of him, and Richie remembers his fall.

"How are you knees?" he asks.

"Fine," Eddie says. "Just scraped."

Richie crawls closer to him. He peers closely at Eddie's knee. Then he dusts off the dirt, leans forwards, and presses a kiss beside the scratches.

When he looks up, Eddie is still and quiet and watching him. The moonlight catches in his brown eyes, and fair skin, and his hair is all mussed up from the rush.

"My lips can cure all," Richie says. It's meant to be joking, but the next bit comes out softer than intended. That adrenaline is still coursing through him. "Anything else I can kiss better?"

Eddie blinks. Richie is expecting a _"fuck off, Richie"_ any second now.

But Eddie slowly lifts his hand.

For a second, Richie's brain short circuits - and he's sure all his organs stop working. But then he takes it gently in his own and presses a soft kiss just above Eddie's knuckles.

"Palm," Eddie corrects, quietly. He turns his hand over and Richie brushes his lips against his palm. Then he grabs Eddie other hand and does the same thing. His heart is in his throat, Eddie won't stop watching him, a heat burns beneath his skin.

He meets Eddie's eyes again. Voice quiet. "Anything else?"

And there's something so heavy between them, but delicate, and neither of them can look away or else it'll break, so they gaze, deep, deep, deep, into each other's eyes. And they don't speak. Richie hardly dares to breathe. As Eddie lifts a hand, almost hesitantly, and presses a finger to the side of his neck.

Richie feels like he's about to explode.

Heart on fire, he leans forwards. Slow, slow, slow. He can smell Eddie, as he gets closer, and he smells so nice. So sweet. Can feel the heat radiating off of him. And then his lips are on Eddie's neck, right on his pressure point. And Eddie gasps, just a little. The tiniest bit. Just a sharp exhale. But Richie hears it, and feels it right in his gut.

And _god_ , has Richie mentioned how _soft_ Eddie is? Because he's so deliciously soft. Richie doesn't want to take his lips off him. But he does, just for a split second. Before he kisses Eddie's neck again. And again. Three languid kisses. He pulls back and looks at Eddie. And Eddie's eyes are no longer wide, they are heavily-lidded, fluttering.

"Better?" Richie asks. His voice is no more than a rasp.

Eddie shudders. "Do it again."

So Richie does. Kisses just below Eddie's jaw, right down to where his neck meets his shoulder. And the kisses get hotter as he makes his way down. Open-mouthed. Richie swipes along Eddie's skin with his tongue, and Eddie _whines_ and tilts his head back to give him better access, and _fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Feel good?" Richie noses the underside of Eddie's jaw.

Eddie puts a hand on Richie's neck. _"Richie."_

Richie hums against his skin. Gives him another hot kiss.

Eddie gets his other hand on Richie's shoulder, and then he's pushing him away. "No, _Richie_. What are...what are we doing?"

Richie blinks, a little dazed. He almost feels drunk. "What?"

"This is... _weird._ I mean you're not... you know. Gay...right?" Eddie says. He looks at Richie with intent. Or, maybe, hope.

"So? This isn't gay. I was just kissing you better. And it felt good, right? You liked it. I don't get why we had to stop."

That makes perfect sense to Richie, even though his mind feels hazy and he can't really focus on anything other than tingling sensation on his mouth. But it appears to be the wrong thing to say, because Eddie's expression caves into a frown.

"Yeah. Right." He gets to his feet, dusts the grass of his shorts. Richie really doesn't understand why he keeps moving further away. "I should get home. I'll see you later, Rich."

Richie should try to get him to stay, but he's not sure what to say. Because what just happened? Eddie picks up his bike, and then he's gone without a single look back. And Richie watches him leave, and his chest aches, and he can still taste Eddie on his lips.

 

Oh. What the fuck did he just do.


	5. Seventeen Part 3

Eddie shouldn't be upset.

Richie was just being Richie. Meaning, he was just being stupid. And Eddie knew that. And Eddie let it happen...encouraged it. Because Richie's lips on him felt so fucking good. And for a moment, he had let himself believe that when he pulled back and questioned him, Richie's response would be something along the lines of, _I like you. I love you, I want you_.

But this was Richie he was talking about, so of course the response was something closer to, _this means nothing to me._

He shouldn't be surprised. He knew that. Richie wasn't gay. Was just messing around.

But, fuck, it meant _everything_ to him.

The night had started well, in a weird sort of way. Eddie hadn't told his mother he was going out. He knew he couldn't say he was going to spend time with Richie, at _night_ , alone, but he also knew that lying about going somewhere else was pointless. His mother was extra suspicious of him now that she was under the impression that he had feelings for his friend - Richie had always been her least favourite out of the Losers, but now she downright despised him.

She would've caught him in his lie, and found someway to get to him stay home. Or tried to, at least. So Eddie said nothing. Just waited until she was on the phone, her usual evening gossiping session with one of her old highschool friends, and he'd told her was going to bed early. Then he'd made up his bed as though there was someone in it, with pillows under the blankets, just like in the movies. And he'd snuck out through his window.

It had been exhilarating. Jumping from the wall, landing on the grass, sneaking around to grab his bike. It had been what he _should_ have been doing, throughout his earlier teenage years. Instead of being the tightly wound ball of anxiety he was, someone who stood up to his mother, but was still scared of her, too. Eddie rode his bike to Richie's house with his heart hammering excitedly in his chest.

Some part of him hoped that his mother would find out. So he could upset her, just like she had upset him. But mostly he didn't want to get caught. So he could enjoy his night with Richie in peace. So they could joke around and hang out like best friends should. So things could go back to normal.

 _Normal._ He really fucked up on that aspect, didn't he?

"Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher?" Ben asks, chewing on the end of his pen. It's the day after Eddie's night with Richie, and they're in the library, just he and Ben. Everyone else is at Richie's house. Eddie really didn't feel up to seeing him today.

He's not angry. It just...kinda hurts.

"A teacher?" Eddie asks. "What would I teach?"

"Hmm. You could work with young kids, so you'd just kinda teach everything. The question, though, is whether or not you're any good with kids."

He and Ben do this a lot. Think of Eddie's future. Everyone is just kind of under the assumption that Eddie will grow up to be doctor, considering he's already so well versed in medicine. And Eddie had been okay with that being his considered future for a while. It made sense. Plus, there was a large part of him that wanted to become one just to spite his mother. Imagining her reaction to her _precious_ Eddie working with sickly, contaminated people all day fuelled him to read through his medical textbooks.

But...he didn't really want to be a doctor. And he didn't want to become one because of his mother. She had controlled his life long enough.

Unfortunately though, she's controlled it for so long that he doesn't really know what he wants. If he's honest, he has no idea who Eddie Kaspbrak even _is._

"I don't know if I'm good with kids," Eddie sighs. He picks at the cover of one of the books they have strewn across their table. "I don't think I'm good with anything."

"Don't say that," Ben scolds. "You're great at a lot of things. I think you'd be a great teacher. You're really helpful when it comes to assignments."

"Thanks, Ben," Eddie says. "I guess you're right. But I really don't wanna talk about my future anymore. Not right now. It kinda doesn't do anything but stress me out."

"I feel that." Ben nods. They're silent a moment - Eddie staring off at a bookshelf and wallowing in about five different kinds of dread - but then Ben grins as though hit by an amusing thought. He glances about the library, there's nobody sitting near them, just an old man reading a newspaper, and a couple younger students sitting near the front of room, and then leans across the table. "Hey, guess what I heard the other day."

"I dunno. What?"

Ben is trying to smother down his smile, but he looks as though he might burst. "Allison Terry likes you."

Eddie blinks. "Who?"

 _"Allison Terry."_ Ben gapes at Eddie's blank look. "Eddie, do you...how do you not know her? She's in our English class. That really pretty blonde girl who sits at the front of the class. She's kinda quiet, but really nice."

"Oh, her." Eddie's never really spoken to her. Or paid any attention to her. Because, you know, he's not all that interested in girls. No matter how pretty or blonde they are.

"You should ask her out," Ben says. "I could help you write her a poem. I'm sure she'd love it."

"She's not really my type."

"Really?" Ben looks curious. "What's your type?"

"I dunno," Eddie mumbles. He's suddenly become very interested in watching his finger trace little patterns along the table top, avoiding Ben's gaze. "Dark hair. Funny. Unattainable."

"Unattainable," Ben echoes. He snorts. "Yeah, I guess I can relate to that." And Eddie knows he's thinking of Bev.

"Still," Ben continues. "You should try talking to her, at least. You might really like her."

"Yeah." Eddie's gaze drifts, but he's not really looking at anything. He's thinking about Richie's lips on his neck. "Maybe."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Eddie doesn't go over Richie's house the next day, either.

Or the next.

Life is a real bitch sometimes, though. Because the only thing more painful than being with Richie, is _not_ being with Richie.

He spends most of the third day in his room, hating everything. His mother seems pleased that he's not going out, and that just makes him hate everything even more.

So, when the sun starts to set, he finishes eating dinner with his mother, goes up to his room, shuts the door, and opens the window.

And then he's landing on the grass, knees buckling. And he's grabbing his bike, hands shaking. And he's pedalling down the street, heart pounding.

The sky is a dark orange by the time he gets to Richie's house. He drops his bike idly on the drive, trips himself over the handlebars, and stumbles into the backyard.

None of the other Losers are there. There's just the truck, in the middle of the grass. And Richie, in the truck. Sitting in the driver's seat with the door open and one leg hanging outside of it. Through the windscreen, Eddie can see that Richie has his head tipped back against the seat, and that he's blowing puffs of smoke up towards the ceiling.

Eddie pauses, nervous. He didn't really think this through. What if Richie had thought over what happened that night, and decided that it _was_ weird? He must've noticed how much Eddie had obviously enjoyed it... his lips on his skin...what if he had put two and two together and now knew Eddie was...gay?

What if, just as Eddie had been avoiding him, he had been avoiding Eddie?

Eddie considers backing away, going home, but he doesn't move, frozen on the edge of the lawn. Watches the smooth, exposed column of Richie throat, the sharp edge of his jaw, the way his long fingers hold the cigarette. His heart aches.

And then Richie jolts, straightening up in his seat and finding Eddie with his gaze, almost as though Eddie had called his name.

He smiles.

It is open mouthed and bright, a spark in his eyes, something golden in his expression, and it only adds lighter fluid to the aching coals in Eddie's chest.

"Spaghetti Man!" Richie calls. And now Eddie is moving forward, though the nerves don't really fade. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Eddie stops by the car door and looks at Richie through the open window. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

"I...had some ideas for the shed," Eddie replies. Because it's not like he's going to say _I missed you._

"Yeah?" Richie's smile never dims. He pats the seat next to him. "Come, come. Sit, sit."

Eddie rounds the truck and climbs into the passenger seat, the upholstery warmed from being out in the sun. He wrinkles his nose.

"It smells like cigarette smoke," he says.

"Oh, yeah, shit." Richie flicks his burnt out cigarette out the open door. "Sorry." He grabs the air freshener that dangles from the rear-view mirror and waves it through the air. "Pine forest versus foul smoke. Who will win?"

Eddie laughs, can't help it. Settles a little more comfortably into his seat. Richie is being _normal_. Just being Richie. It soothes over his nerves.

"So does the truck run yet?" he asks.

"Nah. It's gonna be a little while yet," Richie says. "There's some parts we're having trouble getting our hands on. It probably won't run for a while. Though, hopefully it'll be working for my birthday in a couple months."

"Seems like it's more trouble than it's worth," Eddie snorts.

Richie grins. "Now, come on, Eddie. It's not about having a working truck, it's about the friends we made along the way." He seems to bask in Eddie's amusement a moment before he says, "Hey, I think I finally found a name for it."

"The truck?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

A glint in Richie's eye. "Edgar Allan."

Eddie presses his lips firmly together, tries to will down the heat creeping up his cheeks. Why does Richie have to make things so difficult? Kissing Eddie's neck...naming his truck after a stupid nickname he gave him... Of course, Richie _could_ be naming it after the great Edgar Allan Poe, but the smug look on his face says otherwise. And he's not really one to be interested in literature.

"Shouldn't you give it a girl's name?" Eddie grumbles. "I thought vehicles were supposed to be female."

"Says who?" Richie retorts. "My truck is the cutest boy in the whole world, thank you very much. Just as cute as you are, Eds. But maybe not quite as cute as me."

Eddie folds his arms over his chest, kicks his feet up onto the dashboard. "Don't call me Eds."

They fall into silence. Watching the hazy amber sky slowly darken over the street, over rooftops, treetops, as the sun dips into the horizon. Richie leans forward, rests his chin on his forearms which he's placed on the top of the steering wheel. Eddie keeps his arms crossed. The silence is not the comfortable kind.

It's almost a little scary. He and Richie don't have many silences, but when they do, they are easy. Content. This one feels restless, uneasy. Buzzing with words unspoken. The scariest part, though, is when Richie tilts his head on his arms to look at him, and when he speaks in tone that is both soft and serious at once.

"Hey," he says.

Eddie already knows what he's going to say.

"I'm sorry about the other night," Richie continues. "You know, on the lawn. When we..."

"It's okay," Eddie interrupts. Quickly, before Richie can...

"I was just messing around and took things too far. It was just, you know, a stupid game. I'm sorry if it weirded you out."

And there it is. Thanks, Richie, for rubbing it in his face. It meant nothing! He gets it.

"It's fine," Eddie says, though the snappiness in his voice suggests otherwise. Richie worries at the corner of his top lip.

They're going to fall into that weird silence again. Into that discomfort. It hangs over Eddie's head, heavy, threatening, a bucket of water ready to tip...

"Allison Terry likes me," Eddie blurts. The words leave him in a single breath and almost lift him off his seat. With a blink, he rests back and inhales and stares determinedly at the dripping honey sky.

He's not entirely sure why he said that, of all things. He wants it to hurt Richie, like Richie's hurt him, but why would Richie care about _that?_ It could be showing off, but he thinks, maybe, it's not for Richie.

Maybe it's more like he's saying to himself, Richie doesn't want me, but at least someone else does. But, shit, that's so dumb, isn't it? Doesn't make it hurt any less.

Richie doesn't say anything, and that's unnerving. Just watches Eddie.

"Do you think I should ask her out?" Eddie adds, can only look at Richie from the corner of his eye.

More silence. It feels heavier, somehow. And Richie's expression is so far from his usual brightness that it almost looks dark. But it's not. Not really. It's...serious. Some parts contemplative, some parts unreadable.

He says, finally, "I didn't know you liked her."

"Yeah, well..." Eddie shrugs. "Ben said she's really pretty and blonde and nice."

Richie snorts, but it's humourless. "Why doesn't Ben date her, then?"

"Because she likes me."

It feels like Eddie's looking at Richie's mirrored image and everything is backwards. Reads right to left. Dark instead of light. Each beat he is waiting for a joke, a crude comment, a smirk and laugh that never comes.

"Well, then. Date her, if you want. I don't control your life, Eddie."

"Yeah, okay. Maybe." Fuck that, of course. Eddie still can't really believe he brought it up. He gives Richie a sideways glance, watches him lean back into his seat and wipe his palms along his thighs. "You... okay?"

"Yeah." Richie flashes him a smile. It's a cheap imitation of his usual one. "Just tired, little Spaghetti. I was down at the junkyard again today. Got some stuff we can use to fix up the shed walls."

"Oh, nice."

"Yeah. It's gonna be real good, Eds. Just you wait."

Eddie shuffles his feet a little on the dashboard. Richie's fingers twitch and dive towards his pocket, but seem to decide against it last minute and tap against his knee instead.

He had been craving a cigarette, Eddie realises. Stressed and twitchy and in need of a fix. But he'd stopped himself because he knows Eddie doesn't like it.

It's such a little thing. And this is such the wrong moment to think this, to come to terms with it, in this stuffy broken down truck with something weird and convoluted in the air between them. But Eddie just knows he's gone. Just knows, then, that isn't some dumb crush. And that must be why this hurts so much. He is completely and painfully in love with Richie Tozier.

It seems to hit hard and gently all at once. Because it's a momentous revelation, but he thinks that maybe he always knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy these kids been seventeen forever


	6. Eighteen Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all so much for ur lovely feedback n comments on this fic so far. i go back and read them all the time bc they make me so happy and also i thrive off that sweet sweet validation. i hope u all enjoy this chapter!

It's a Friday, around 3pm, and eighteen year old Richie Tozier is smoking behind the school with Beverly Marsh for the hundredth time.

The sky is a dreary sort of grey above them, air is cool and still and full of distant chatter between students. Bev leans against the bricked wall of the gym, one leg bent, puffing little smoke rings in front of her, looking like a teenage dream. With her short curly hair and freckles and full lips, her mellow attitude, like nothing can touch her, the fire dormant in her eyes, like she wouldn't be afraid if something did.

Richie watches her as he inhales, feels the warmth of the smoke bloom in his chest. Sets him at ease.  
"We should date, Bev," he says. She cocks a brow at him curiously, but doesn't say anything. Just takes another drag. "You know, I feel like we should've dated already. It's almost weird that we haven't."

"Hm, I feel like you're saying this because you've been single forever and it's boring the shit out of you," she says, pretending to mull it over. "But I'm gonna pretend that you really are head over heels in love with me because it's never the wrong time for an ego boost."

Richie places a hand to his chest. "I'm _offended."_ Bev smirks, waits, and then Richie lets his shoulders drop and sighs, "Yeah, fine, you're right, Miss Marsh. Miss Marsh the Harsh. Bev the...negative...negatev. Whatever. You're right and I have a problem."

"Poetic," she snorts. Then, "you know, there's an easy solution to this. Ask someone out."

"Bev will you please go out with me."

She laughs, punches his arm. "Someone _else."_

Richie leans back against the wall, feels its rough surface dig into his back. Thing is...Richie can't remember the last time he was actually interested in someone. He's had some casual hookups at parties, sure, but he had never been interested in _dating_ those girls. Can't list a single girl that he's ever had genuine feelings for, none of them seem...right.

It's a little weird, but he thinks Eddie is kind of perfect for him, in a way. Has been thinking about that a lot recently, actually. He'd decided that if Eddie was a girl, Richie would definitely date him, or...her. Even went so far as to conjure up an image of this female Eddie in his mind. With soft, long brown hair and the same big brown eyes.

He had imagined kissing her soft skin one night, just like he'd kissed Eddie's. But he did more. He'd pinned her to his bed and left marks on her collarbones and grinded his hips into hers. But then his mind had glitched and it was Eddie beneath him, making those sweet little noises he'd made when Richie had kissed his neck, face flushed. And daydream Richie had just kissed Eddie's jaw and groaned _I want you so fucking bad_ and the real Richie had jolted and thought, _wait, do I???_ and the hand he had around himself had moved faster as though replying _yes._

His mind still continues to be a fucking mess.

He fishes for another cigarette.

Richie leaves Bev not too long after that, heads around the front of the school to wait for Eddie, because they walk home together most days. He chews mint gum as he waits, because it helps lessen that smell of smoke Eddie doesn't like.

When Eddie appears, it is with Allison Terry. Pausing outside the doors with their heads slightly bent together as they talk.

Richie smacks his gum loudly and watches them through narrowed eyes. The way Allison's long, blonde ponytail swishes as she tilts back to look up at him, the way Eddie smiles at her, the way their shoulders bump together.

They've been hanging out a bit since that day a month or two ago, when Eddie had told Richie about her in his truck. Richie doesn't really know what to make of her. Okay, that's not true. He doesn't like her. She seems nice. A little quiet, timid. But she's _boring._ She doesn't make Eddie laugh as far as Richie's concerned. Richie's always thought that Eddie should be with someone who makes him laugh.

Plus, there's some part of him that always assumed that he and Eddie were in the same boat. While all the other Losers developed crushes on others, and in some cases, _each_ _other_ , Eddie had always seemed to be like Richie -- not particularly interested in anyone. Richie had kinda liked it that way.

"So, are you dating her yet?" Richie asks, a little scornfully, when Eddie finally walks up to him. Eddie ducks his head as though the words had been thrown at him, tugs at the strap of his backpack.

"I...I don't know..." he mumbles.

Richie's expression lifts in surprise, and amusement. "You don't _know?_ How can you not know if you're dating someone?"

"Because I'm also sleeping with your mom. Just leave me alone, Tozier," Eddie snaps.

Richie erupts into laughter. "Okay, fair enough, Mr Spaghetti. But if you're banging her while I'm banging _your_ mum...well...does that still mean I'd be your daddy? Because you'd technically also be mine."

"What the fuck are you talking about." Eddie wrinkles his nose, though the corner of his mouth quirks.

"Wait, this is actually really confusing," Richie says, pressing his thumb to the corner of his frown in thought. "Because if your mom and I got married, I'd be your step-dad, right? But then if you also married my mom...would you also be _my_ step-dad? Is it possible that we could be each other's step-dads? Shit, Eds...don't walk away! I think I just found a new paradox here!"

He runs after Eddie and Eddie laughs and walks faster and they chase each other like little kids until Richie grabs Eddie around the middle and lifts him off the ground in triumph. And Eddie yelps and Richie cackles as Eddie fights his way out his grip and then they walk side by side and discuss Richie's step-dad paradox because Eddie may groan and roll his eyes but he's also the only one that really humours Richie, too. Richie pinches Eddie's cheek affectionately. Eddie smiles up at him. And it brings a warmth to Richie's chest even better than the first drag of a cigarette.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two days later, and Richie is driving in his truck for the first time.

It took a little longer to fix up than he thought, they'd struggled to find some parts and then the cold weather came and made it harder to work, and Richie had to juggle it with his shifts at The Aladdin. Still, that did nothing to dwindle his excitement when he heard the engine rumble for the first time. He'd been working on it with Stan and Mike, and their victorious shouts and hollering echoed throughout the backyard. Richie had hooked an arm around Stan's neck and smacked a sloppy kiss against Mike's cheek. And then they'd crammed into the truck and taken it for a drive.

Once he dropped them off - a little sick of Stan's passenger-seat-driving - he'd picked Bill and Ben up from where they hanging out at Bill's house. And Ben had laughed giddily when Richie revved the engine and Bill had shouted at Richie to _slow the fuck down_ when Richie got a little too excited. After their drive, Richie had driven to Bev's aunt's house. And Bev had stretched out in the passenger seat and sung along loudly to the radio and asked him to drive her all over town.

Now, in the dark, with a cold wind whipping at the windows, Richie pulls up in front of Eddie's place. Last, but not least.

He still avoids the Kaspbrak's house like the plague. Would much rather get Eddie _out_ of it than go and see him _in_ it. But sometimes he climbs through Eddie's window late at night when he's bored or can't sleep or just wants to see Eddie's face.

Richie steps out into the cold, wraps his jacket around him, and sneaks around the side of the house. Excited to take Eddie on a drive, hear him scold Richie for driving too fast, or taking his eyes of the road. See him smile and laugh and maybe even sing along to the radio like Bev had, if Richie pushes him enough.

The window latch protests for a split second, but then Richie is pushing it open, climbing through, and toppling onto Eddie's bed with all the grace of a newborn gazelle.

There's a little noise, like a short scream that never quite made it out of someone's throat. Richie straightens up, fixes his glasses and pushes his curls from his face.  
And then he finds himself staring into the startled face of Eddie's mother.

The room is lit by only the warm lamplight coming from Eddie's bedside table, coats everything in a pleasant orange glow, but Mrs K's face - with her tight lips and wide eyes - appears to burning bright red. She is frozen by Eddie's desk, her hand hovering over a little neat stack of notebooks Eddie has left there.

Richie wonders if it's too late to jump back out the window.

 _"What..."_ Mrs K breathes in, out. Splutters. Seems to have trouble composing herself. Or stop herself from exploding with rage. " _What on earth do you think you're doing?"_

"I could ask you the same thing," Richie replies, surprisingly cool considering he's so internally alarmed. He's really fucked up this time. "Are you snooping through Eddie's stuff?"

Mrs K snatches her hand away from Eddie's desk, but plays it off as though she just meant to round on Richie, jab a finger toward him. "How _dare_ you speak to me like that. I should call the police. You've just broken into my house."

"Aw, only thing broken is my heart, Mrs K..."

"You've done this before, haven't you?" she interrupts, looking as though she's smelt something foul. "How long have you been breaking into my boy's room?" Her expression becomes stricken. What have you been... doing with him? _To_ him?"

Richie furrows his brow at that odd phrasing. "What do you mean _'what have I been doing to him?'_ I'm not _hurting_ him or anything..."

Mrs K presses her fingers to forehead, trembling. Panic strikes Richie when he realises she's about to cry. "Oh, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. My precious boy...you've been _tainting_ him!"

"What the fuck are you talking-"

"You're a dirty, _disgusting_ person," she snaps. "You did this to him! You did this to my Eddie! I can't believe I ever let him hang around you...can't believe..."

All Richie can do is stare at her, as she sobs, as she shouts at him. He feels himself sinking into Eddie's mattress, leaning back on his hands, and he silently wills himself to sink all the way through. Until he's fully submerged. Maybe it can suffocate him on his way down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Richie says slowly. The situation feels huge, and like it could all come crashing down at his feet any second now. But he doesn't understand it. Can only try to keep it above his head. "But I can promise you that I'd never do anything to hurt Eddie, he's my..."

"Oh, I don't want to hear it," Mrs K interrupts, her voice almost a growl. "Don't want to know any of your immoral thoughts or feelings towards my boy. This is what happens when boys don't have good father figures in their life, I suppose. My poor Eddie...I should've..." she stops herself, glares at Richie. "You were always a lost cause. Your father never cared for you. Nor did your mother. Just a filthy boy left to do as he pleased. I'm not surprised you'd be into something so sinful. God, why did I ever let Eddie..."

"With all due respect," Richie says. _"Shut your fucking mouth."_

At some point, he had gotten to his feet. He doesn't remember moving. All he knows is the hot blooded anger coursing through him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the clench of his fists by his sides. Who does this bitch think she is? Talking about his family as if she knows _anything?_

He towers over her. Being short really runs in the Kaspbrack family. But she doesn't back down. Seethes up at him. Her voice drops dangerously low, a hoarse, hissing whisper.

_"Get. Out. Of. My. House."_

"With pleasure."

He marches from the room but pauses in the doorway to say, "You're one to talk about messed up families, Mrs K. The way you treat Eddie. It's fucked up. Given him so much anxiety. You know I'm only climbing through his window because you try to keep him on house arrest."

"Shut up," Mrs K says sharply. "You don't know what's good for him."

"I know it's not you," Richie replies. Her jaw goes slack. "Get the fuck out of Eddie's room."

And then he slams the bedroom door shut.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Richie can't stop trembling. Sits in his truck, still outside of Eddie's house in the quiet, shadowy street, because his hands are shaking too much for him to turn on the ignition.

Fuck. He can't believe that just happened. He doesn't think he's ever hated anyone more in his life.

Eddie has to _live_ with that. And, shit, Richie's probably just made it worse, hasn't he? His mother will probably never let Eddie outside ever again, board up his window so no one can get in. He's _eighteen_ now for chrissake, she can't keep treating him like this.

And now she thinks that Richie's _tainting_ Eddie or whatever. Has being doing something sinful with him. Like what? Smoking, drinking, drugs? Any of that would be enough to give her a heart attack, and chain Eddie to his bed so he can never see Richie again.

The thought is infuriating but Richie lingers, however, on something else. Feeling a little sick. _"I don't want to hear it,"_ she had said. _"Don't want to hear any of your immoral thoughts or feelings towards my boy."_

There seemed to be only one thing that that could be referring to...but how the fuck could Mrs K know _that?_ It was impossible. There was no way...

Richie rests his head against the steering wheel. Her words ringing over and over in his ears. _Dirty...disgusting...immoral..._ He thinks of his lips on Eddie's neck...thinks of those times he'd imagined Eddie in his bed...and he suddenly does feel disgusting. Feels guilty.

He's lusting after his best friend. There. He said it. It's not just his thoughts running away from him, being messy. He well and truly wants Eddie Kaspbrak.

And he's doing this while Eddie flirts with the sweet girl from his English class.

God, what would Eddie _think_ if he knew the ways Richie thought about him late at night? He'd probably be disgusted, just like his mother is...

No. There's no way she was referring to Richie's weird sexual fantasies. There was literally no way she could know. She meant something else when she called him disgusting. Had to.

All of Richie's thoughts are moving too quickly. Anger still burns through him, clouds his brain. Shit, he needs to get out of here. Find Eddie.

He turns on the ignition. The truck rumbles loudly beneath him.

He already knows exactly where Eddie will be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The shed is like a little home away from home.

He and Eddie have worked hard to transform it into something nice, somewhere they can escape to, hang out. For a while, Richie had just wanted to keep it to themselves. Just something he shared with Eddie. But it felt weird keeping the Losers out of it, and now they spend nights there drinking and talking and laughing.

Still, he and Eddie spend the most time there. They've covered the walls inside with some sheets and blankets, hanging from the ceiling so it doesn't look so grey, and to somewhat insulate it. There's a rug on the floor and a little wooden coffee table in the middle of the room, covered in board games. Five bean bags sit around the room, dented in from the weight of bodies, and, along with the old cabinet, there's a little wooden shelving unit full of snacks and little knickknacks the Losers have left over. A dart board is stuck up on one wall, and a blackboard on another - covered in scores from one of Richie and Eddie's board games. All of it is lit by soft Christmas lights strewn across the ceiling.

The best thing in the shed, in Richie's opinion, is the mattress in the back right corner. It was Georgie's old double mattress - the Denbrough's had been about to throw it out because Georgie was getting a bigger one (he was like Bill, hitting his growth spurt fast and early), and Richie and Eddie had gotten their hands on it. It was just sitting on the floor (on a tarp, by Eddie's instruction) but they'd covered in as many pillows and blankets as they could find. Richie comes out here to nap on it sometimes.

Now, Richie bursts through the door with his anger still buzzing beneath his skin and Eddie's name on his lips. Not at all surprised to see Eddie there. Though Eddie is certainly surprised to see him.

He stands by the cabinet, a blanket draped over his shoulders, fiddling with Richie's boombox. He jolts up in surprise when Richie enters.

"Eddie," Richie says again, slightly breathless. "Do you think you could stay here tonight? Actually, just, _please_ stay here tonight, okay? I'd let you stay in the house but I think my parents are home. Well, my mom at least. Saw her car parked out front. And I don't really wanna deal with them..."

"Richie," Eddie interrupts, looking taken back. "Is everything okay? What's going on?"

Richie hesitates. "Look, I...I fucked up. I just wanted to see you but your mom was in your room and... _fuck_ she treats your so badly, Eds, you..."

 _"What?"_ The colour drains from Eddie's face. Clasps the blanket around him at his neck, drawing it tighter in a form of defence. "She caught you in my _room?_ Oh...oh no..." He takes a few shaky steps back. "What did she say to you?"

Richie throws his hands up. "A whole load of bullshit," he says. "Saying I was a...a bad influence on you, basically. She was acting like I'd ruined your life or something. But _she's_ the one who treats you like shit! It's fucked up, how she tries to control you. Even after all this time, even after you realised she was stuffing you full of fake pills and called her out, she _still_ tries to keep you on on goddamn leash. _She's_ ruining your life. And I made sure to tell her that. Tried to get it through her thick skull."

"You _what_..." One set of Christmas lights slowly fades from purple to emerald, casts a green glow over the side of Eddie's face. It adds to the sickly expression he wears. He drops the blanket from his shoulders and tugs at his hair. "Fuck, _fuck,_ she's gonna kill me...she's never gonna let me see you again...she'll fucking... lock me in the basement or we'll move to Canada or she'll find a way to lock you up in prison and _then_ we'll move to Canada and..." he looks up at Richie in disbelief. "What were you _thinking?"_

The panic, fear in Eddie's eyes makes Richie's chest feel tight. He doesn't regret what he said to Eddie's mother, he'd say that and more a thousand times over if he had to. But he knows the fall out will be bad, that even though Eddie is stressing and rambling, his words probably aren't too far from the truth.

"I hate how she treats you. I just...care about you, you know. Like, a lot." Richie rubs the back of his neck. "And, who knows, maybe this will open her eyes a little. She needed to hear it, Eds. To be honest, I can't believe I've never tried to call her out before..."

Eddie doesn't say anything. Looks away. Richie takes a cautious step towards him.

"Hey," he says softly. "I'm gonna fix it. And if I fuck up again, we can just hide away in here forever. Away from our shitty parents. It could be good; we've got snacks and board games. And I'd let you take the mattress, don't worry."

The lightheartedness of his words seems a little risky, considering how heavy the air is around them, but Richie hopes they will draw some sort of reaction from Eddie. But he stays quiet and it's almost physically painful.

"You can punch me, if you want," Richie tries. Moving even closer. "We might be even if you do that. Just don't aim for my face. It's all I have going for me."

He's close enough now that he can reach out and gently touch a finger to Eddie's arm. Eddie lifts his head at the touch, gazing up at Richie with wide eyes.

They stare at each other. The Christmas lights fade again, this time into gold, and reflect like little stars in Eddie's brown eyes.

"Eddie - " Richie begins, softer.

Eddie wraps his arms around him.

Richie is startled at first, had been expecting a punch, but then he leans down and wraps his arms around the small of Eddie's back. Brings him closer, flush against him. And Eddie is small and warm in his embrace and Richie doesn't think he ever wants to let him go.

"You're an idiot, Richie," Eddie sighs, lips close to Richie's ear. "But...thanks for trying to stick up for me. For caring. Even if you did make everything into a mess."

"Well, it already was a mess. I just thought I'd stick my hands in it and make it impossible to clean up."

Eddie huffs something like a laugh - Richie feels it against his chest - and Richie grins. Grips Eddie tighter and buries his face in Eddie's neck.

"I'll fix it," he murmurs. Promises. His lips brush against Eddie's skin and it sends a thrill right down to his toes. Eddie holds Richie just as tight.

A voice, Mrs K's, whispers _disgusting_ in his mind. But Richie pushes that away. Because he's allowed to hold his best friend like this. Even if it does make his heart flutter.

 

There's a change of clothes Richie keeps in the cabinet in case he needs something soft to nap in - a pair of sweats and old shirt - and Eddie changes into them before bed. He looks adorable drowning in Richie's clothes, the sweats rolled up at the waist and shirt drooping lowly over his shoulders. But Richie doesn't say anything. Just heads towards the door and tells Eddie he'll be over first thing in the morning.

Eddie stops him.

"You don't have to leave," Eddie says. "I know you probably don't want to be in the house if your parents are there."

"That's very thoughtful of you, Edgar Allan," Richie replies, hand already on the door handle. "But I think I'll break my back if I sleep on that couch."

Eddie doesn't blink. "Then don't sleep on the couch."

Richie freezes. His gaze travels to the mattress then back, maybe dropping down to Eddie's exposed collar bone on the way.

"There's enough room for the two of us," Eddie explains, ears a little pink.

Richie says "okay" before he can really think about it.

And he wishes he thought about it, because he strips down to his boxers - leaving his shirt on - and then he's lying next to Eddie. With only one set of Christmas lights left on, basking the room in a soft glow.

And Eddie turns over so they face each other in the middle. Richie has his glasses off, but the perks of being near-sighted are that he can still see him. Can still see Eddie's hair fanning out over the pillow, falling over his forehead, the way he blinks, slowly, as though he's getting sleepy.

"I know you were joking," Eddie says quietly, "but I don't think I'd mind spending forever in here with you."

Those words are so gentle. They shouldn't make Richie hurt they way they do. The pang in his heart and ache in his chest. Here Richie is, messing up over and over again. He's seventeen and ditching Eddie at a party, taking things too far and kissing his neck, he's eighteen and fighting with Eddie's mother in a way that will only get Eddie in trouble, cutting the pulled-too-tight threads on an already strained relationship. He doesn't want to hurt Eddie, ever. Just wants to make him laugh, make him feel good, happy, be a source of comfort, even, in his stressed out life. But here he is. Fucking up. Again and again.

And here Eddie is, letting Richie sleep in his bed, smiling him.

Richie doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve Eddie. He's lucky. That's what he is. He's so, so fucking lucky.

The silence stretches on after Eddie's words and Richie can't swallow because it feels like there's something in his throat, and he feels so much affection, such tender fondness for Eddie in that moment that he reaches out and cups Eddie's cheek. Warm beneath his palm. And Eddie's eyelashes flutter and his lips part, just slightly, and Richie leans forward with his entire body yearning, _longing_ , and presses a soft kiss to Eddie's forehead.

He doesn't speak when he pulls away, face close, thumb brushing along the freckles beneath Eddie's eye, because he's afraid of what he might say.

Eddie doesn't say anything either. Looks at Richie through hooded eyes. Put at ease by his gentle touch.

He falls asleep like that. With Richie so delicately caressing his face. Only a few inches of space between them. Richie can see Eddie lashes lightly grazing his cheek. Pink lips still slightly parted as he breathes out in little puffs through his mouth.

There's an echo in Richie head, Mrs K again... _filthy...immoral_...but Richie pushes that away. So so far away. Because he's going to get Eddie away from that. Going to get him out of this chaos to somewhere Eddie can breathe freely and go to a home that makes him feel safe. He could go to really nice college and study to be a doctor, or to be whatever he wanted to be, because Richie has a feeling that Eddie doesn't want to do that anymore. And if he doesn't know then they'd find something else to do. Together.

Richie has being planning this since he was sixteen. Getting Eddie away from Derry, from his mother. But it seemed like such a faraway dream them. One that he had to chase to catch.

But now he has a truck. A rust bucket, sure, but big enough for the two of them, with all the space they'd need for the bags they'd pack.

And the truck works.


	7. Eighteen Part 2

Eddie wakes in the middle of the night.

There's a heart-leaping moment where the shadows don't quite sit right and the sounds around him whisper foreign in his ears and he has absolutely no idea where he is. He squeezes his eyes shut, blinks them open, breathes in and out, and it all comes back. He's in the shed, lying with his side digging into the mattress on the floor, and the noise he can hear is the wind outside rattling against the metal walls.

The shadow in front of him is Richie.

Eddie watches him until his eyes adjust to the dark and he can see Richie's face. Curls mushed into the pillow, falling over his forehead. He is so different from his awake self. Expression gentle, lips tugged lightly into an ever-so-small frown. Like his dream calls for concentration.

Their hands rest in the space between them. Cautiously, Eddie shifts his closer to Richie's, until their pinkies are pressed together.

A selfish desire for skin against skin.

Outside, the wind picks up, lashes against the shed harshly. Whistles through the gaps in the walls. Without moving, Eddie's gaze flickers to the wall behind Richie's head. The blanket draped up along it seems to exhale, billows out away from the wall, and then inhale quickly, sucked in with a _thwack_ against the metal. He worries that one of the panels he and Richie used to patch up the gaps has fallen.

"Loud, isn't it?" mumbles Richie sleepily. Eddie's eyes snap back to him in a second. "Almost as loud as your snoring."

Richie's eyes are so heavily-lidded that they may as well be closed, but there's not doubt he's looking at Eddie. A smile plays against his lips, half squashed into his pillow. Their hands are still touching.

"I don't snore," Eddie whispers back.

"Mm kay." Richie's voice is thick, only half-awake, but his tone is amused. "Whatever you say."

The shed creaks and groans.

"I feel like the walls are about to collapse," Eddie says, glancing away again.

"They've endured worse than this," Richie replies. "But don't worry, Eds. I wouldn't let them crush you if they did collapse. I'd sacrifice myself to save you. You're too cute to let die."

Richie is still watching him when Eddie looks back, gaze steady through the dark. Eddie fights between an eye roll and a smile.

"I'd leave you for dead."

Richie laughs, something so clear and bright that it doesn't belong in this shadowy shed at all. It feels as though Eddie is standing out in the sun, head tipped back, basking in it's glow. Eddie thinks that Richie is the funniest person he knows, so making him laugh is a bit like having a well renowned artist admire your amateur artwork.

"That's fair." Richie grins. He presses his pinky more firmly against Eddie's and Eddie almost jolts. Had thought that Richie hadn't noticed how they touched. Eddie stares at their hands for a moment, not sure how far he should push it. But, god, lying with Richie like this...the soft smiles in the dark...he just wants to be  _closer._  Aches for him, in a way. So he settles for nudging his hand even more firmly against his, and hooking his pinky over Richie's.

"I wouldn't actually," he says quietly, doesn't look at him. "I'd save you too."

He's ruined the joke but whatever. He wants to say it. And the little smile he can see on Richie's face from the corner of his eye is worth it.

"Yeah?" Richie whispers.

"Yeah."

Richie's smile widens. "You know, you're quite a nice sight to wake up to, Eddie Confetti. I don't think there's many people who can look as sweet as you do seconds after they've woken up."

"Shut up," Eddie mumbles. Blushes. 

And now Richie is nudging his hand. Turns it over so Eddie's knuckles are pressed against the mattress. And Eddie watches as Richie's fingers slide up his palm. It tickles, almost, nails grazing Eddie's skin, but mostly it burns. And Eddie's heart is in his throat as Richie slips his fingers between Eddie's, intertwined. Palm against palm. Warm skin against skin.

It sounds like Richie says something, but Eddie can't hear him, blood roaring in his ears. He's so, so sensitive to Richie's touch. It's almost embarrassing. If Richie could hear how fast his heart pounds, could see the blush on his cheeks...

"This okay?" Richie asks, and Eddie hears him this time.

"Feels good," Eddie breathes, voice barely there. His eyes widen. Stares at Richie mortified. _Fuck, did he really just say that? Richie is just holding his hand for fucksake he's so..._

But Richie smiles. Lifts their hands and brushes his lips against Eddie's knuckles.

And suddenly Eddie is seventeen again. Sitting on the grass with Richie kneeling in front him. And Richie is kissing his hands, trailing his lips along Eddie's neck. And Eddie is stopping him.

Now, Richie kisses each of Eddie's knuckles so gently it makes his stomach flip over itself.

Eddie doesn't want to stop him this time.

He watches Richie kiss down his hand, and his eyelids feel heavy, his lips parting, like they are desperate for Richie's to slot between them. And they _are_ desperate. Richie kisses his wrist. So, _so_ desperate...

A loud bang tears through their little bubble. They jerk apart in shock.

"What the fuck...?" Richie sits up. The wind had caused the shed door to open, pushing against it so harshly that it smacked against the wall. Richie gets to his feet and crosses the room quickly, fights against the wind rushing in to shove the door shut.

Then he flicks on one set of Christmas lights. Eddie squints his eyes at the harsh golden light that suddenly washes over him.

"Hey," Eddie grumbles. Lifts a hand in an attempt block it out. "What are you doing?"

"I mean, we're wide awake now, aren't we?" Richie says. He's already shifting through the cabinet. "Might as well have a midnight snack."

Eddie frowns. He's not really in the mood to eat anything. He wants Richie to lie down beside him, wants Richie's lips back on his skin.

But Richie doesn't even look at him. Like the bang of that door had broken him out a cloudy late-at-night haze, and now he regrets what he did. Or, just wants to forget it, at least.

"Shit, we're really running low on snacks. What's the bet Bill and Stan have been sneaking in here and eating them all? I've never trusted them," Richie says, with his head in the cabinet. "All we have are salt and vinegar chips. That's the worst flavour."

Eddie doesn't say anything. Richie pulls back, pushes the curls from his face.

"I don't know about you but I'm suddenly in desperate need for some chocolate." A mischievous smile dances about Richie's lips and it's like nothing happened. Eddie doesn't know if that's reassuring or not. "I think this calls for a trip in good old Edgar Allan. Oh, yeah." He smacks his forehead. "I didn't even get to tell you. The truck works now. Oh, man. This would really be a perfect first ride together. The streets will be all nice and quiet. We can go and get some M&M's, I know they're your favourite, Eds."

"Richie - " Eddie breaks off. Richie is already tugging his jeans back on.

"I promise I won't drive too fast," Richie says. He pulls his shirt on and makes his way back to the bed, searching for his glasses. Eddie hesitates as Richie slides them back on his nose. Eyes now staring owlishly at him through the thick lenses.

"Come on, Spaghetti," Richie says. "It'll be an adventure."

The last time Richie had said something like that, they'd ended up getting chased by a feral dog through a junkyard. It'd been terrifying. But kind of fun, too. In the craziest sense.

Richie extends his hand.

Eddie sighs. Resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He takes it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's 2 am.

Now that Eddie is dressed, jeans and blue sweater, sitting in Richie's truck, he checks his watch. Two in the morning and he's driving down the empty, lamp lit streets of Derry, under a dark sky devoid of stars, with Richie Tozier.

It's almost hysterical. They've left a wind-beaten shed in search of M&M's they don't need in a beat up old truck that looks like hell but has the frilly name Edgar Allan. Richie has the radio up loud and is singing off key and sometimes he swerves a little off the road but he doesn't ever speed. And Eddie is _smiling._

Because it's like nothing else really matters. Right now, in this odd, dreamy moment. Eddie's mother is a faraway thought, his anxiety has no hold over his heart. It's just Richie and Eddie and this rust bucket truck. 

They stop at a gas station, because there's very few places open at this time of night. It's bright inside, under the almost-white artificial lights, surrounded by rows of colourful food packaging. They scour the shelves and Richie grabs treat after treat, shoving M&M's and chocolate bars and chips into Eddie's arms until they reach up to Eddie's chin. He laughs gleefully at the sight and ruffles Eddie's hair and Eddie does his best to scowl at him.

And they stop at a sunglass stand on their way to the counter. Richie pushes his glasses up into his hair and picks through the selection, as though it's his mission to try on every goofy looking pair there is. Pulls funny poses to make Eddie laugh, taps his feet along to the little boppy tune playing over the speakers. He grabs a pair of pink, heart shaped glasses and slips them over Eddie's eyes. Smiles and boops Eddie's nose and says something like _"You're so fucking cute"._ And Eddie's cheeks turn the same shade as the glasses as he smiles back.

"Are you buying those?" the cashier asks as he rings them up. Tired eyes flickering over to Eddie. The glasses are still on his face. Eddie goes to take them off but Richie stops him.

"Oh, yes," Richie replies with a devilish grin. "Of course."

And then he's grabbing their bag of snacks and Eddie's following him outside. And it's too dark for Eddie to see anything with the sunglasses on but Richie still doesn't let him take them off, far too amused. Just grabs Eddie's hand and leads him back to the truck. And both their palms are a little sweaty but neither of them mind.

The fall into their seats and the doors groan shut after them and Eddie turns to Richie and asks _"Can I take them off now?"_ and Richie laughs and pinches Eddie's cheek before he turns on the ignition. _"Of course, Eds. But you're definitely keeping them."_

They don't drive back to the shed. Not at first. Richie takes them on a bit of a drive. It seems like they're going nowhere. Just winding through the streets. Eddie kicks his feet up on the dash and watches the streetlights flash by through the window.

Then they begin to ascend. Richie is humming. Eddie looks around curiously.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"Just you wait and see, little Spaghetti."

The truck stops. Richie turns the headlights off but leaves the engine rumbling beneath them. And Eddie leans forwards in his seat. They're on a cliff overlooking Derry. The street lights little dots speckled across an otherwise dark, quiet town. Here and there glow houselights and shopfronts, and sparse cars crawl along the roads, headlights beaming.

It's a little breathtaking. But, with the looming trees and shadowy bushes around them, whipped by the wind, a little spooky too.

"They call this Makeout Point," Richie says. Eddie flushes at that, but Richie just begins to dig through their bag of snacks. "Also good for snackin'"

"Why have I never heard of it before?" Eddie asks.

"I guess you've never quite been in the demographic for it, my dear Eddie Bear." Richie seems to settle on a bag of chips and rests back in his seat. "You know, you need someone to _makeout_ with at _Makeout_ Point."

A high whistling sound pierces through Eddie's brain. Like a kettle at boiling point. Or a child's near-silent scream. _Why are_ we  _here then?!?!?_

"That's changed now, though, hasn't it?" Richie rips open the chips. "You've got that Allison girl. You should bring her here. Could be romantic."

"I don't want to bring her here," Eddie replies instantly. He's watching Richie pick at his bag of his chips. And he feels breathless all of a sudden. "She's just my friend."

He'd become friends with her mostly to make Richie jealous. Which, had seemed so pointless. Because there was no reason for Richie to care. But Richie never seemed to like her. And his jaw got tight whenever she was around. And Eddie let his wishful thinking get ahead of itself.

Richie gazes at him. The faint rising glow of the town below them glints off his glasses. It makes it hard to see his eyes, but Eddie can see the way his eyebrows slightly furrow. The way his mouth sets into a line. Eddie looks at him. Looks at him, looks at him. As though he's hoping his own eyes will be able to transcribe the words: _There's no one I want to be here with but you._

The silence seems to drag on forever, on and on and on. They don't stop looking at each other. The space between them feels so _loud._

"Let's get out of here, Eds," Richie says finally, voice low, but edging on urgent. "Let's leave."

Eddie frowns. "But we just got here."

A smile. "It's a good thing you're pretty," Richie teases. "I mean Derry. This town. It's a shithole, our parents are the fucking worst, there's no chance at a real future here. We'll waste away if we stay. It'll suck out our souls. You know? I feel like this place of the epitome of those feral dogs at the junkyard. It'll just scare us away from what we want. Tear us apart with its teeth. You deserve better than this, Eds. We deserve better."

Eddie's not surprised by the words. Not really. They sound rehearsed, almost, even though they're rambly. Like Richie's been thinking over them and over. Learning them by heart. He's known that Richie wants to leave since they were sixteen years old. But Eddie was hesitant about it then. And he's hesitant about it now.

Change is a scary, daunting thing. The last time he'd had a major change in his life, it had been forced on him, in a way. Greta Bowie taught him the word placebo, opened his eyes to the fact that his whole life was a lie, was bullshit, and Eddie confronted his mother, because he was angry, because he was scared. And his careful, sheltered life tipped upside down. And his loving, albeit smothering mother, became a stranger in his own home. Though she wasn't a stranger. Because he recognised her face. And he felt sick whenever he saw it.

And things just got worse from there.

He doesn't know how well he could handle another life altering change like that.

"I don't know," Eddie says now. "If I could just...leave. Just like that. There's...there's still stuff for us here. I mean...what about the rest of the Losers?"

"They could come with us," Richie says earnestly. "And if they don't wanna come then we'll come back and visit them. Or they can come and visit us. We won't be stuck in the one place, Eds. We won't leave forever."

Eddie chews on his bottom lip, considering.

"I...it's a big decision, Richie," Eddie says. "It'd be so hard for me to just leave everything. This is all I know. But if I stay...I....ugh." He flops back against his seat, places his palm over his forehead. "I don't know if I could handle staying here if you left."

"I'm not going anywhere without you."

Richie's gaze is heavy on him, unwavering, expression serious. Eddie's skin prickles.

"Whatever you decide...I'm with you. We'll do this together. Leave. Stay. We'll figure something out, okay?"

Swallowing thickly, Eddie nods. Careful not to break their eye contact. It feels like it's the only thing rooting him to his seat, but also the reason why he's afraid he'll drift off in the first place.

"You're right, though," Richie continues. "It is a big decision. But take all the time you need to think about it." He smiles. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay," Eddie replies, voice soft.

There's that loudness again, though they are quiet. Derry twinkles in the corner of their vision and Richie reaches out and cups Eddie's cheek. Eddie leans into the touch, tilts towards him slightly, like he's hoping that maybe Richie will kiss his forehead again, that Richie will place his mouth over his. But Richie just traces his thumb below Eddie's eye, his own gaze watching the movement. And then he pulls away.

Eddie feels like he's trapping a scream in his throat. In his mind, having Richie on him, skin on skin, is the only thing that can sate it. But they just sit there, side by side. At _Makeout_ fucking _Point_ and they eat snacks and point out places they know in the town below them and they _don't_ makeout. Which...Eddie's not expecting that they would. But there's something charged in the air between them, a buzz, a hum, and he can still feel Richie's gaze, his hand, prickling his skin and...whatever this is... it's been there for a while, there's no denying it now...it's something _tangible,_ something that weighs down on his bones, and Richie is always pulling back... and it hurts, yes, but also it's driving him _crazy._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They go back to the shed not too long after that. The night begins to wear down on them. Hangs about heavily on their shoulders. Eddie fails to stifle his third yawn.

They trudge inside. Kick off their shoes. The wind has died down a bit. Christmas lights still on. Richie pushes his glasses up into his hair so he can rub his eyes.

"Got your sunglasses?" he asks Eddie sleepily. Eddie nods. "And your M&M's? Gotta make sure you hide those. If Stan finds him when he's over, he'll eat them all for sure. And Bev, too. I'll have to fight them off. Tell 'em...'those are Spaghetti's...if you eat them you'll make him upset...even though he looks adorable when he's angry...with his cute nose all scrunched up...' Though it might not even matter. Because we might live here forever...just you and me, Eds...we're the dream team...I'd be happy with that..."

They are mumbled words, as Richie tugs his socks off, undoes his belt. Sound akin to words that tumble from a sleepwalker's lips. They drive Eddie insane.

It feels like a tightly-wound coil has finally snapped. How can Richie talk like that? How can he call Eddie adorable, cute, cup his cheek, kiss his knuckles, his forehead. Ask Eddie to run away with him. Act so weirdly toward a girl he thought Eddie was romantically interested in. Name his fucking _truck_ after him. How can he do all this if Eddie doesn't mean something to him like Richie means something to Eddie?

Does Richie just like messing with him? Well, yeah, he does. In a teasing, joking sort of way. Eddie doesn't think he'd do something like _that_. Not when Richie has so clearly told Eddie how much he cares about him...how he never wants to hurt him...

So...maybe...

Eddie's silence appears to speak loudly, because Richie is paused, watching him. And Eddie is just so _done._ With all of this. With the tiptoeing around each other. With the touches that he can never decipher. With this _weight_ the air holds. He just wants to _know._ And maybe the answer will be something he doesn't want to hear. Something that will break his heart. But he wants,  _needs_ answers...some sort of clarity.

Richie's brown eyes are so warm in the golden light. But concerned too.

"You okay, Eds?"

He wants...he wants...

The words _What are we doing, Richie?_ are on his lips. _Do you think there's something between us?_ _Would you ever actually kiss me?_ The space between them is still so loud, but so is everything else. It's all moving so fast, his heart, his blood. He exhales, shaky but sharp. Struggling to breathe. The weight bears down on him, and with Richie's eyes on him, with the world deafening around him, his voice is so very quiet, and what he says is, "Do you think you could kiss me, Richie?"

The words seem to float. And Eddie is not sure if they ever reach Richie at all, because his expression doesn't change. He just stares. Eyes a little wide. Stares and stares and stares. And maybe the words _did_ reach Richie and they'd turned to ice and frozen him still. And maybe Eddie is going to pass out, because he can't fucking _breathe._

He wants to take them back. Swallow them back down and let them ache in his chest. He wants, he wants, he _wants..._

Richie unfreezes. His shoulders lift, straightening up slightly. And then he's crossing over the gap between him. And he's got one hand on Eddie's waist, and the other caressing his jaw.

Eddie's breath catches. Tilts his face up. Richie's gaze is searching, flickers between Eddie's eyes like he's making sure Eddie is really serious about this. And Eddie _is_ , he is, but he doesn't say anything because he feels like he can't speak. So he just snakes a hand between them and clutches at the chest of Richie's shirt, lifts up on his toes to bring their faces closer. Lips parted. So desperate for Richie's to finally fit between them, so, _so_ fucking desperate.

Richie's grip on Eddie's waist tightens. And he gets one last look at Eddie's face. Savouring it.

He presses their lips together.

There's no fireworks. Because the fireworks explode on the ground. And they set Eddie's stomach alight. And the fire hungrily devours him until there's not one damn inch of him that doesn't fucking burn.

Because it is this: Richie's mouth hot on his, Richie tugging him closer until their bodies are flush together, Eddie reaching up, up on his toes to wrap his arms around Richie's neck. And it this: Richie's tongue swiping along Eddie's bottom lip, Richie's tongue slipping into Eddie's mouth, Richie devouring him with all the hunger of the flame.

They kiss for what feels like hours. Because Eddie doesn't want to pull away. Wants to kiss Richie until he can't breathe, until he's dizzy and he only knows the way Richie's hand slips under his sweater and blazes against his skin, the way Richie sucks on his bottom lip, the way he sucks on Richie's.

But they pull away eventually. Even though they leave their lips touching, panting into each other's mouths. Even though Richie's lips are back on him within a second. Kissing down Eddie's jaw, quick little pecks, kissing down Eddie's neck, open mouthed and searing.

Eddie curls his fingers into Richie's hair and whimpers. A small, embarrassing sound, though not so much when it makes Richie groan into the spot where Eddie's neck and shoulder meet.

"Fuck." Richie moves back and Eddie's body washes over cold, like Richie's taken all his warmth with him. _"Fuck,"_ Richie says again. His mouth is kissed red. "I've wanted this for so long I was just too fucking stupid to realise it."

Eddie reaches up again. Just wants to keep kissing him. Because maybe a door will bang open and this bubble will burst. But Richie seems content just looking at him. Soaks in every feature of Eddie's face -Eddie knows that his cheeks are flushed, that his lips are probably as plump and red as Richie's - and presses his thumb to the corner of Eddie's mouth.

"God, Eddie," Richie breathes, bumps their foreheads together. _"I want you."_

And those words just add to fuel to fire. Because Eddie's wanted to hear them for so long, and he thought he never would.

He tightens his grip in his Richie's hair, brushes their lips together and whispers into Richie's mouth, _"You have me."_

 

They end up on the mattress. Eddie on his back, Richie between his legs. Their kiss is desperate and messy and no matter what they do it still doesn't feel like they're close enough.

Even when Eddie wraps his legs around Richie's waist. Locks him in his grip, Richie's weight heavy on top of him - in that nice way that makes him feel safe. Even when he dots little kisses all over Richie's face, his cheeks, temples, forehead, Richie's eyes flutter shut and Eddie brushes his lips over his eyelids. Even when their hands roam, hungry and searching and snaking up their shirts.

Eventually Richie pulls Eddie's arms out from the back of his shirt, mumbles something like _"Let me make you feel good"_. He hikes Eddie's sweater up near his collar bones and kisses down his stomach, scorching, languid kisses. Stops to suck at Eddie's hip bone. Eddie bites down the knuckle of his finger to try and stifle the little breathy sounds escaping his mouth. He's oversensitive. To Richie's hands, sliding up and down his waist. To Richie's tongue, swiping along the mark he left on Eddie's hip. He wants Richie to kiss every inch of him, wants to flip him over and kiss every inch of _Richie_ , but he feels so hot and god, Richie feels so _good_ but it's _too much._

Richie nuzzles into Eddie's stomach, hair tickling his skin.

"You're so beautiful, Spaghetti." He noses his way up Eddie's ribs.

Eddie tries to laugh but he sounds so breathless. "Don't..." He has to stop to catch his breath. Richie peppers little kisses over his chest. Flicks a tongue over a sensitive nipple and the air gets caught in Eddie's throat. "Don't call me Spaghetti while you're kissing me like this. It's fucking weird."

"Sorry." Richie lifts himself up with a grin, plants a hand by Eddie's head. Close enough that his curls spill over Eddie's face, graze his forehead. He drops his voice low, runs a finger along Eddie's hip. "You're so beautiful, baby."

And Eddie nearly _whines._ Fuck, what is _wrong_ with him. It's like he's yearned for this for so long that now that he finally has it, his body just doesn't know what to do. Has gone into overdrive. Richie kisses him deeply, and Eddie opens his mouth without thinking, allows him entrance. And Richie licks along the roof of Eddie's mouth and Eddie moans and Richie grinds their hips together in response and Eddie is sure he's going to explode.

"Richie," he gasps. Richie rocks against him again. Fuck, _Fuck._ Eddie struggles to get his hands between them, on Richie's chest. "This is...it's...too much."

Richie is gone within a second. Pulls away without hesitation. But Eddie grips his shirt so he can't get too far. "Shit, Eds, I'm sorry..."

"No, no. It's fine. It's _good_ , Richie," Eddie assures him. He reaches up and gently brushes Richie's curls behind his ear. Inhales shakily. "I just think...maybe we should go slow?"

"Of course." Richie catches Eddie's hand when Eddie begins to pull back and presses his fingers to his lips. "Whatever you want, Eddie. Whatever you're comfortable with. I can go at a snail's pace. Or, I mean, we can stop, if you really want. If you need some time. I have to admit, though, you look so fucking _wrecked_ , Eds, and it's doing amazing things to my ego..." Richie rambles. Eddie tugs him in by his collar and silences him with another kiss. _  
_

And now that fire is gone. Glowing embers below the surface, ready to be ignited again. Another time. Because now their kiss is slow and soft. Taking their time to learn each other. Run their fingers gently through each other's hair.

Every now and then they stop. Smile at each other. Kiss away the smiles only to replace them with laughter. Because _yes_ the fire is gone, but it's energy is still there, transformed into something light and giddy.

And maybe they should talk about it. About this. And maybe they should remember why, exactly, they're in this shed in the first place. But they just kiss until they're too sleepy to kiss anymore. And they change out of their clothes. Throw soft smiles at each other. Crawl back into bed. And Richie curls up behind Eddie, wraps an arm tightly around his waist and whispers goodnight into his neck.

They can talk about it later. About what this means for them. About Eddie's mother. About leaving this town before it can tear them apart with its teeth. Because this night had started with stress, with rigid tension and almost-tears. And now Eddie falls asleep with a smile on his face.


	8. Eighteen Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to write and post this sooner but ive been so busy plus i also didnt have my laptop for a couple days bc i had to get it fixed and also procrastination is the Worst. (my depression: is that a challenge?) but anyway here's the last chapter!! thank u all so much for reading n for all the lovely comments it means so much!!! ive loved writing this and i hope to write more reddie in the future (i already have a couple ideas So. this fandom is probs dying but im stubborn and hyperfixated)

Bev slams her locker shut and sets sights on Bill and Stan down the hall.

"Hey," she says, approaching them. "Have you guys seen Eddie today?"

"N-nope. No Richie either," Bill replies.

"Well, that's not exactly a surprise. I'd be more surprised if Richie _was_ here. Sometimes I seriously wonder whether he's gonna graduate or not," says Stan.

Bev presses her lips together and pushes them up towards her cheek. Watches the other students make their way to their classes.

"It's weird that Eddie isn't here, though," she says.

"Richie probably offered to d-drive him to school in his truck and they c-crashed," Bill snorts. "I can just imagine them arguing and Richie swerving i-into a ditch."

"You joke, but that's probably exactly what happened," Stan says. "Or they decided to ditch last minute and are just out driving around town. Either way, Richie definitely offered to give Eddie a ride and not any of us. Because he worships the ground Eddie walks on."

Bill flashes him an amused look, which Stan returns.

"We should go find them after school," Bev says, had zoned out after the first sentence, leaning back against the lockers. She tucks her hair behind her ear, itches a bit for a cigarette. Stupid Richie isn't here to smoke with her. "Make sure."

"Yeah, sure. I'll tell the others to meet us after school," Bill says. As he and Stan turn around, begin to walk away, Bev hears him say, "T-ten bucks they're dead in a ditch."

"Fifty bucks Richie finally got his shit together and is living all his Eddie fantasies right now," Stan replies.

"Pffftt, you're dreaming," Bill laughs.

Bev only vaguely knows what they're talking about.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
Last night wasn't a dream.

Richie's lips are sore because he'd kissed Eddie last night. _Eddie._ Richie's bottom lip feels especially raw, because Eddie had sucked on it, nipped it between his teeth, brown eyes glistening up at him. _Eddie Kaspbrak had done that._ His best friend. And it's the farthest thing from weird. Richie is almost certain now that he's wanted this since he was at least thirteen years old.

Though there is a couple inches of space between them now, Richie's body is still curled to fit around the shape of Eddie's body, and his arm loosely hangs over Eddie's waist. It _should_ be a dream. That late night escapade and all that came with it. Because waking up to something as _good_ as this seems wrong when he first went to sleep in an attempt to drown out all the chaos he'd caused. But thank god it's real. Because Richie tightens his grip around Eddie's waist, carefully drags Eddie back into his chest. And Eddie stirs, makes a little sleepy sound - a bit like a hum - but stays asleep. And it's so fucking cute that Richie's damn heart bursts.

Sunlight filters in through the thin gaps in the walls, the threadbare curtain covering the little window, and it's brighter than morning sun. Richie watches the way it catches in Eddie's hair, washes over his smooth skin. And he considers waking Eddie up, because Richie misses him, in a weird way - despite the fact that he's holding Eddie in his arms. It must be the excitement, things are different between them now and Richie wants to experience it. But then he hears movement outside.

Footsteps, shuffling, voices.

"...promise you, I haven't seen him," comes a low voice. Richie's father. Richie stiffens, and strains to hear the reply.

The second voice is much quieter, so much so that Richie can only catch a few words. But the speaker is undeniably female, voice tight and words quick and sharp. Eddie's name makes a prominent appearance, and the voice seems to quiver whenever it does.

A foul taste settles in Richie's mouth.

It's Mrs Kaspbrak.

She's looking for Eddie, obviously. He hadn't come home last night and she must be worried. _Of course._ Richie feels stupid. The thought of her coming here had not entered his mind at all. Foolishly thought that Eddie would wake up, accept his offer, and they'd drive off together into the sunset. The sound of her speaking, her feet shuffling in the grass, so close, has Richie tightening his grip around Eddie. Pulls him in until there's not an inch of space between them, the warmth of Eddie's back, softness of his shirt, against Richie's bare chest. Richie curls his body snuggly around Eddie in an attempt, almost, to make himself as small as Eddie is. So if the door swings open and Mrs K storms in...there might be a chance she won't see them amongst all the pillows and blankets. Not that there would be any reason for her to look in here. On the outside, it still looks like an unused, rusted old shed.

Still, the arm Richie has wrapped around Eddie's waist is instinctively protective. Tightens every time the footsteps grow closer. Just in case.

Eventually, the voices disappear, and footsteps fade away, and Richie finally feels like he can breathe. Lets his face fall into the crook of Eddie's shoulder.

"This really fucking sucks, Eds," Richie mumbles into his skin. He presses a kiss there, too.

Eddie stirs again, and he must wake - though he doesn't speak, or even open his eyes - because suddenly he is rolling over and burying his face in Richie's chest.

"Hey," Richie says with a laugh that is both surprised and uncertain. He worries that maybe Eddie _did_ hear his mother outside, and that he's upset. But Eddie just snuggles closer and mumbles, "I'm so tired."

"Poor little Eddie Spaghetti." Richie grins, wrapping one arm around Eddie's back, and using his other hand to card his fingers through Eddie's soft hair. "Can't handle a night out?"

"I can't handle Richie Tozier dragging me out for no reason in the middle of the night," Eddie grumbles. The feeling of his warm breath brushing against Richie's chest, the smooth skin of his cheek, sets Richie's heart fluttering.

"I'll make sure our first date isn't at two am then," Richie replies with a smile.

And those words leave his lips, hover in the air above him, and then fall, striking them both at the same time. As the smile slips from Richie's face, body going still, he feels Eddie go rigid in his arms.

It's not a far-out thought, the two of them going on a date. Considering they kissed for what felt like _hours_ last night, considering that Eddie is literally in Richie's arms right now (and they're both very happy about that). But it's a bit of a confronting thought that Richie and Eddie: best friends, are now... Richie and Eddie: dating.

Not confronting in a bad way. Because it's the furthest thing from bad. It's just...different. And saying it out loud feels foreign on the tongue. But it also makes Richie's heart pound, and his cheeks feel warm, and his stomach bubble with excitement.

That excitement mutates into anxiety, though, at Eddie's silence. And Richie wonders if maybe he read it all wrong. Maybe they're not Richie and Eddie: dating. Maybe they're just Richie and Eddie: best friends who kissed at two am and enjoyed it but won't be doing it again because they shouldn't have really done it in the first place.

He stares at the dust that floats in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Eddie's hand rests over his heart.

"I mean...that's what's going on, right? Between us?" Richie asks uncertainly. "Like...we're...you know. After last night and everything. You're, like...you're mine, right?"

Eddie begins to pull away and, _fuck_ , Richie is sure he's said the wrong thing. He always does, doesn't he? Has come on too strong or something...fucked it all up. But Eddie only moves far enough to meet his gaze, his head now back on his pillow. And his hair sticking up in a hundred different directions, because Richie had been running his fingers through it, and his lips are red and still a little puffy, because Richie hadn't been able to stop kissing them. His cheeks are flushed, brown eyes are a little droopy, sleepy, but they search Richie's face as Richie gazes nervously back at him. Everything about Eddie right then, how soft he looks, how beautiful he is, makes Richie's body ache.

A gentle smile finally stretches across Eddie's lips.

"Yeah," he whispers, eyes bright. "I'm yours." He reaches out and brushes his fingertips against Richie's cheek, and then lets trail them down Richie's jaw, to the corner of his mouth, down along his nose, Richie's eyes flutter shut and Eddie carefully traces over his eyelids. It tickles, almost. It feels so warm. "And you're mine."

Richie exhales shakily. Eddie's fingers graze over his lips. "Yeah," Richie breathes. And he's sure that that's the thing best thing he could ever be.

Eddie drops his hand then, and Richie's eyes open, gaze deep into Eddie's, drop to Eddie's mouth. He leans in for a kiss, but Eddie sticks his hand up quickly, and Richie ends up kissing his palm.

"Wha--?" Richie begins.

"You can't kiss me while you have morning breath," Eddie explains, as though that should be obvious. He pulls his hand away and wipes it on the blanket. "I know we were having a sweet moment, Rich, but it's gross."

There's a little furrow in Eddie's brow and it's just such an Eddie thing to do that Richie laughs.

"Oh, come on, Eds," Richie leans in again but Eddie recoils, shaking his head. "Just one little kiss. One little kissy kiss. I'm willing to put up with your morning breath if you put up with mine." He keeps leaning forward and Eddie keeps moving backward. And Richie is grinning and Eddie is trying very hard not to laugh. "Just a little smooch, Spaghetti. We can hold our breath, if you want. You can block your nose, too. You won't smell a thing. Just one little smoochie."

Eddie reaches the edge of the mattress and then he is on the floor, laughing as Richie leans over him, puckering his lips.

"No!" Eddie gasps through his laughter, swatting Richie away. "No kisses, Richie, you need to brush your teeth first!"

Richie pouts. "Not even a smoochie?"

"Not even a smoochie," Eddie replies, as firmly as he can. Arms folded over his chest and eyes serious as he stares up at Richie. A smile still plays at the corner of his mouth.

"Fine." Richie sighs dramatically. "I guess I'll brush my teeth, then. Like some sort of _nerd_."

"The _horror_ ," says Eddie sarcastically.

Richie grins, kisses his own fingers, then reaches down and boops Eddie's nose, like somehow the kiss will transfer from his skin to Eddie's.

 

 

They have to climb up through Richie's bedroom window to get into the house, because Richie's parents are still home. Richie doesn't want them knowing Eddie is here, on the off-chance that they care enough to call Mrs K about it. He can hear murmuring downstairs as he carefully plants his feet on his bedroom floor. And maybe his parents are awake and talking to each other, but it seems more likely that they're either napping or half-awake and on the couch, the noise coming instead from the TV. He turns around and tells Eddie it's safe to come up.

Eddie has first shower, tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom. Richie stays in his room, door shut, leg bouncing as he sits on the edge of his bed. He studies the chaos around him, the posters on the walls, clothes on the floor. The shelves full of cassette tapes, the packets of gum on his desk. The air smells of body spray. Everything he has, it's here. All he owns. And when Richie leaves - because he will, even if it's eventually - he won't even bring half of it with him. That's what you do when you run away. When you a start a new life.

But only moments before Eddie had stood in this room, too. In Richie's tattered clothes, rumpled from sleep, with his hair a mess; he matched the chaos around him. Because he belonged to Richie too now, and Richie to him. They always had. But now they knew it.

_Mine. Yours._

So maybe Richie will leave behind most of what he owns, but he will have Eddie, and Eddie's all Richie wants, anyway.

Eddie slips back into the room a few minutes later, drying off his hair with a towel. _"Be quick,"_ he whispers to Richie. And Richie nods and creeps down the hall and into the bathroom, still steamy from Eddie's shower. He showers quickly, just rinses off the events of yesterday, the dirt under his skin from his late night escapade. He rubs soap into his skin gently, like he's afraid he'll also wash away the feeling of Eddie that lingers all over. Even though it doesn't matter if he does, because Eddie is in his room, waiting for him. He'll be able to get that feeling back whenever he wants now.

Someone bangs at the door just as Richie steps into his towel.

"What are you doing in there?" comes the rough voice of his father. Richie's blood runs cold. "Richie? Did you just take two showers?"

"Uhh, yep! I didn't wash the shampoo out of my hair properly so..." Richie hadn't actually washed his hair at all. He hastily tugs his clothes on and drapes a towel over his head before opening the bathroom door.

As a kid, Richie was sure that his father was the tallest person in the world. He towered over his Richie, over his mother, over all of Richie's friends. Now, at eighteen, Richie stands nearly half a head taller than him. But no matter what he does, his father always makes him feel so _small._

"What is going on, Richie?" his father asks, arms folded over his chest. "Why aren't you at school?"

His father glowers at him over his thin, rectangular glasses, appearing extra small on his wide face. _When,_ Richie thinks testily, _have you ever cared?_

"I don't know," Richie says instead, voice level. "Why aren't you at work?"

Anger blotches red over his father's face. "Don't be smart," he growls. "Sonia Kaspbrak was here not too long ago, looking for her son. He didn't come home last night and she thought he might be hiding here. In fact, she thought that you might have left Derry together. Do you know anything about that?"

"I know that we obviously didn't, because I'm standing right fucking here," Richie replies. And it sounds irritated but really he's startled. Mrs Kaspbrak had somehow known exactly what they were planning to do. "I don't know what Eddie is doing. Since when have you cared about any of this shit anyway? I thought you liked staying out of my life, it was working pretty well."

"You're my son," his father says. "I don't want people thinking that you hid away Sonia's boy...that you helped him run away from home. She warned me to keep you _away_ from him. Your behaviour reflects badly on me, Richard. I want you to go to school and stay out of trouble."

And of course. Only in a fantasy world would his father follow the words "You're my son" with "I care about you" or even... "I love you." And Richie's known this all along, but it still hurts. Because while he had been sitting in his room, reflecting on all that belonged to him, thinking about how he now belonged to Eddie...the sound of the TV murmuring had buzzed in his ears. And he'd thought of his parents. And how he should've belonged to them, too.

It would be nice, if his parents missed him once he's gone. But they won't. If Richie had any doubts about that, he knows it for sure now. His room would miss him more than his parents would. The tape on his posters would become unsticky, and they'd fall from the wall. The gum would become old and hard and uneatable. The smell of body spray would fade and instead turn to one of dust. Because of his absence.

His parents would continue on like nothing ever happened.

Richie shoves past his father, stalks back down the hall. He thinks maybe he swears at him or something, calls him a shitty dad, but he's not really paying attention. He doesn't care anymore either.

Eddie is frozen only a few steps from the door when Richie enters the room, slams the door shut. His eyes are wide, and Richie immediately knows that he had heard every word.

"Richie, what..." he begins. Eyes search Richie's face, the hurt that tightens Richie's jaw. Eddie's expression softens into concern. "Are you okay?"

 _Are you okay?_   Even though Eddie has bigger things to be worried about right now, even though his over-protective mother is obviously scouring the neighbourhood looking for him. He wants to know if Richie's okay. It translates to, _I care about you._

Richie crosses over to him, cups his face, and kisses him. Hard. The kiss is cold, almost, because their mouths taste so strongly of minty toothpaste.

"I'm okay, Eds," Richie says softly when he pulls away. Eddie grips Richie's wrists, blinks up at him, a little puzzled. "Let's get out of here." There's a hundred other things Richie wants to say to him, but he just pulls him toward the window, and they climb back down onto the grass.

 

 

They sit in Edgar Allan, a couple streets away from Richie's house. Eddie tells him this: he had told his mother he was staying at Ben's house last night, because he had already intended to sleep over at Richie's. She knows Eddie's gay and likes Richie. After finding Richie in Eddie's bedroom, she obviously thinks that Richie is gay and likes Eddie. She is not worried that Eddie is missing. She is just worried that they're together.

"Right, she just doesn't want us to be doing gay things with each other," Richie says. Mrs K's voice echoes in his head, shrill and panicked, _you've been tainting him!_ He looks sideways at Eddie, who doesn't look at him. He's pulled his legs up onto his seat, arms wrapped around his knees, staring out through the windscreen. The quiet suburban street is bathed in afternoon sun, wind rustling the trees.

"She'd have a stroke if she saw what we did last night," Richie jokes. Well, he says it like a joke, but it's probably not too far from the truth. Eddie drops his legs suddenly and lifts up the hem of his shirt, revealing the marks Richie had left on his hip bone. Heat pools in Richie's stomach at the sight.

 _"Nice,"_ Richie remarks, admiring his work.

Eddie's gaze is heavy when it lands on him.

"Do this on my neck," he says.

Richie's gaze darts back up to Eddie's face, dumbfounded. "What? Now?"

"Yes. Now." Eddie is already climbing up onto the bench seat, gripping Richie's arm for balance as he hooks one leg over Richie's lap. "My mom'll hate it."

Richie is very still as Eddie settles onto his legs properly, straddling his lap. Stupidly entranced by the feeling of Eddie's weight on him, the way Eddie's hands fist into Richie's t-shirt. That heat that had pooled into Richie's stomach is still very much there, and it's reaching a boiling point.

"Can we also just do this for the fun of it?" Richie asks. His hands land on Eddie's upper thighs, Eddie is eyeing his neck. "Because I'm really fucking enjoying this right now."

"Sure," Eddie says. "But afterwards I'm going to go see my mom, and you're going to be with me, and we're both going to be covered in hickeys, and she's going to have to get the fuck over it."

"Fuck, you're so hot," Richie says. Eddie snorts, cheeks dusted pink, and ducks his head with a little _"shut up."_

Eddie leaves the first hickey, on the spot where Richie's neck meets his shoulder. And Richie has received his fair share of hickeys throughout his teenage years, but this is definitely the best one he has ever gotten. Because it's the first one Eddie has ever given, and he's worried about doing it wrong, so he asks Richie a million questions, and he stops and starts a hundred times, and it's so endearing that Richie starts laughing, and Eddie realises that he's being ridiculous and giggles with his lips still against Richie's neck.

Eddie gets more confident with the next couple, and it has Richie tightly clutching at Eddie's hips, head thrown back, stifling groans at the feeling of Eddie's hot mouth on his throat.

"I think I'm getting good at this," Eddie says smugly, after a moan and a low _"fuck, baby,"_ had escaped Richie's mouth.

"To be fair, your hand is also up my shirt right now, and that's not fair," Richie points out.

"Hmm, I think I'm just really amazing at giving hickeys but whatever you say," Eddie says. He straightens and tilts his head up, exposing his throat. "Your turn now."

And Richie is _very_ experienced at hickey-giving, so the first one is not giggly and silly, and neither are any of the others. Not that Richie gets to give Eddie as many Eddie gave him, because first Eddie is collapsing into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and hands gripping tightly at his hair, keeping Richie firmly in place, and then Eddie is pushing away, panting heavily, and mumbling, "okay, that's probably enough now."

"Too good, am I?" Richie grins.

"Don't get a big head," Eddie says. His face is flushed like Richie is right.

Eddie climbs off Richie's lap - Richie's hands linger on his hips because he doesn't want him to move away - and then he settles back near the passenger side window. The marks on his neck are still shiny with Richie's saliva; Richie can't look anywhere else. Eddie wipes his skin dry.

"Your mom's place then?" Richie asks, and turns on the ignition. Edgar Allan rumbles to life. Eddie nods.

 

 

The confidence Eddie had shown when he'd climbed onto Richie's lap is gone by the time they pull up in front of Eddie's house. Eddie had been silent for most of the trip anyway, but before it had appeared as though he was very deep in thought. Now his silence seems nervous, and he bites his nails as he watches the house crawl closer through his window.

He doesn't say anything to Richie until they're standing before the front door. His hand hovers over the door handle but he doesn't move it.

"Can you...I mean I want you there for moral support but...is it alright if you don't..." Eddie begins.

"Talk?" Richie finishes.

Eddie throws him an apologetic smile over his shoulder. "Yeah. I think it might make things worse."

"It already did," Richie reminds him. "I've already said enough. More than enough. Don't worry, Eds, I'll keep my mouth shut. You won't even know I'm there. Well, I mean, you will, because I'll be right your side the whole time. And I'm not hard to miss, being so tall and delicious and covered in one of a kind Eddie Kaspbrak hickeys as I am. Your Richie Tozier hickeys look great on you, by the way."

Eddie smiles through his nervousness. His shoulders seem to relax. "You're so ridiculous," he says.

Then he opens the door.

 

 

Entering the Kaspbrak's house goes like this.

Eddie enters first, cautious. Richie follows behind, careless. Which, is an odd way for Richie to be in the Kaspbrak's house, because he so usually fears taking the wrong step and shattering the tightly-wound tension the air holds. Now, Richie doesn't care if he shatters the tension, he doesn't care if his hip bumps a table-top and shatters an expensive vase. Fuck this place, you know?

Mrs K's voice floats over from the kitchen. "Eddie? Is that you?"

Eddie steps into the kitchen and Mrs K sighs, "Oh, _Eddie_." But then Richie steps in after him, and Mrs K bolts out of her seat at the dining room table, her expression hard. "What is he doing here?"

Eddie hesitates. Richie finds staying quiet much harder than he thought he would. In the silence, Mrs K's eyes are searching, burning, and they land on Eddie's neck. She sighs again, but this time she sounds near tears, " _Oh, Eddie_."

"Ma --"

"What did you do?" Mrs K whispers, voice shaky. "What did he do to you?"

"Don't act like it's a bad thing," Eddie says, and his voice is quiet, but cold. "They're just hickeys. Because we were kissing, you know? We like each other, and he makes me happy and you hate that don't you? You're upset because I'm happy."

"No." Mrs K shakes her head frantically, eyes wide. "I want you to be happy, Eddie. But you won't ever be truly happy if you choose to live like this. If you let him push you into this lifestyle. It'll only hurt you..."

"Oh, that's such fucking bullshit..." Richie begins, irritable. He clamps his mouth shut quickly when both Eddie's and Mrs K's eyes dart over to him. _Beep beep, Richie._

"Look, ma, I didn't come here to argue with you about this," Eddie says, turning back to her. "Because I'm gay, and I'm with Richie now, and nothing you can say will change it. So just..." he tugs at his hair in frustration, "get over it for, for fucksake. Or, you know what, don't. I don't care. You can find these hickeys as gross as you want, doesn't change the fact that it felt real fucking good when Richie was giving them to me." Mrs K makes a horrified little sound, Richie beams with pride. "It's not gonna matter, anyway," Eddie continues. "Because I'm moving out. That's what I'm here to tell you. I'm staying with Richie until I graduate and then Richie and I are leaving Derry."

"You can't..."

"I'm eighteen now. I can," Eddie interrupts. "You don't control my life anymore. Which is good, because you've fucked it up enough."

Mrs K's face has gone completely white. Trembling, she brings her hands to her mouth and sinks back into the chair at the dining table. Sobs rack her shoulders.

"I've lost you," she wails. "First your father, now you. I've lost everything. How could you do this to me, Eddie? I love you. All I've ever done is love you."

It's so fucking unfair. Richie's hands curl into fists at his sides. Biting his tongue is proving near impossible. She can't just turn it back on Eddie like that...the fucked up bitch...

Eddie's face pales, he appears rooted to the spot. Like the words have worked on him.

"No, ma." His voice is barely a whisper. "All you've done is hurt me."

Mrs K sobs louder, face blotchy and eyes red. _"Eddie..."_ She sounds broken.

"I'll come back to get my stuff but that's it," Eddie says quietly. He turns to Richie as his mother cries despairingly into her hands. "I don't want to be here anymore," he tells him.

Richie nods. "Let's get out of here," he whispers back. Places a hand on the small of Eddie's back and begins to steer him out of the kitchen. He looks back at Mrs K as he does, because he can't stop himself from giving her a dark look. She looks back hopelessly, and then something seems to snap. And she shouts at him, curses him, blames him, and her shrill cries don't stop even when the front door shuts and Richie and Eddie finds themselves on the front step. They hurry back to the truck, desperate to get away from them.

"Richie," Eddie says, voice shaky, once they're back on the split leather seats of Edgar Allan. "I hope that's okay. Staying with you and leaving after graduation."

"Of course it is, Eds," Richie tells him gently.

"Good," Eddie says with a nod. He sits very straight, like he's built very tight walls around him. But it crumbles with one deep breath, with one small smile from Richie. And then he bursts into tears.

And the aftermath of entering the Kaspbrak's house goes like this.

Richie scoots along the bench seat and hugs Eddie into his side, lets Eddie cry into his chest until his shirt is soaked through. Eddie hates himself for crying, hates his mother for...everything, hates himself because that's not true. He doesn't hate his mother. He loves her. He wishes she would accept him. The echo of his mother's screams surround them.

"She might come around," Richie murmurs into his hair. "Maybe this separation will be good for her. Give her a chance to come to terms with how she's hurt you. But I'm going to be here, no matter what happens, okay? It's me and you, Eds."

Eddie is nodding, and then he is sitting up and kissing Richie. Richie's mouth tastes of warm and salty tears, cheeks damp. Eddie pulls away, because kissing and crying isn't exactly easy to do.

"Me and you," Eddie says.

Somewhere, not far off, there's a ringing sound. So faint maybe Richie didn't hear it at all. It's followed by a shout, something light and happy and familiar. Laughter. Movement catches in his eye. Both he and Eddie turn at the same time, gaze out the wind screen.

In front of them, under the late afternoon sun, are the Losers. All on their bikes, pedalling in a crooked line towards them. Ben is waving excitedly and Bill and Bev are shouting things like, _hey, assholes!_ and Mike is riding with no hands on the handlebars, laughing, and Stan is standing up on his pedals, grinning.

Eddie wipes his tears away. A surprised laugh escapes Richie.

Me and you. Richie and Eddie. It's true. But, as their friends approach them, have come all this way to find them, are so happy to see them, they know that's not all they have.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
The next few weeks are fast and slow, hazy and clear, up and down. Eddie winds up not staying at Richie's house, at Richie's insistence. He'd just left a broken home, Richie didn't want to bring him into another one, where his parents could burst in at any moment, his mother drunk, his father irate. So Eddie stays with Bev and her aunt.

He spends a lot of time studying at the library with Ben, and Richie knows he should be studying, too, but he goes along only because he likes slinging his arm around Eddie's chair and because sometimes Eddie will resort to asking for Richie's input when he gets really stuck on something, and Richie likes the little smile Eddie gives him every time Richie gets something right.

They study in the shed, too, at night, under the glow of the Christmas lights. Eddie will have his legs tucked under him on the couch, brow furrowed, as Richie quizzes him. But those study sessions always end with their mouths pressed together and their bodies wrapped around each other. Richie will walk Eddie back to Bev's house later, hands clasped between them, his hair still wild from Eddie's eager fingers.

It's not like their lives are suddenly perfect. But it's better. They're happy. Eddie takes Richie on a date to the movies and they cuddle in the back row, Richie climbs through Bev's guest room window in the middle of night to give Eddie flowers. And the Losers are supportive (Stan thumps Richie's shoulder and tells him he always knew) and the rest of Derry is oblivious and their parents are just a thought in the back of their mind.  

There is one problem, though.

Well, it's not really a problem, but it is affecting Richie in basically every way. Because, here's the thing...he misses Eddie whenever Eddie isn't around. But it's more than that. He misses Eddie as soon as Eddie leaves. He misses Eddie when they're hanging out with the Losers and Eddie is talking to someone other than him. He misses Eddie when he comes over so they can nap together on the mattress in the shed and Eddie falls asleep first. Because here's the thing...Richie feels so _much_ for him that it's like his emotions are too big and backward, like Eddie makes him so happy that he almost feels sad.

Because here's the thing.

Richie is in love with Eddie Kaspbrak.

It kind of hits Richie all at once. Like, one day Eddie comes over, enters Richie's bedroom looking tired, and Richie is up off his bed in a second, lifting Eddie off his feet to twirl him around, and he sings _"Eddie, I miiissed youuu!!"_

And Eddie laughs and struggles from his grip and Richie puts him back on his feet and bumps their foreheads together and says, quieter, "Sorry. I just don't like it when you're gone."

And he doesn't. He knew that already, that's not what gets him. What gets him is the fact that those words are tender and vulnerable and sound very much like, _I love you._

Richie wants to say that, too, in that moment. But it's too much, everything he's feeling, it's so intense that it almost scares him, and he's not sure if he _can_ gather together the burn under his skin and the ache in the chest and the fluttering of his heart and squash them all down into three little words. It'd be too much like squashing down metal coils, springs, and he worries that if he hands them over to Eddie, they could blow up in his face.

Or, in other words, Richie's feelings are so big, so intense, he doesn't know how to articulate them. And he fears that Eddie will be scared off if he does.

So Richie doesn't say _I love you_ , not exactly.

He says, _these songs made me think of you_ , as he hands Eddie a cassette tape. And, _come over tonight_ , when Eddie comes to visit him while he's working at the Aladdin. He drives Eddie back up to 'Makeout Point' one night, and they watch the town twinkle below them, and Richie kisses Eddie slowly, tenderly, and when he pulls away he whispers, "I _adore_ you."

They're in the shed one night, stretched out on the couch together, and they should be studying, but it's getting late and they're tired and Eddie had kept nudging Richie's thigh with his little socked foot and smiling at him, so they're kissing.

Except it's different from their usual make out sessions on the couch, Eddie pulls Richie on top of him and hooks his legs around his waist, his arms around Richie's neck.

"Richie, please," he breathes. _"I want you."_

And Richie doesn't need to be told twice. He picks Eddie up and crosses over to the mattress. And he misjudges the height as he lowers Eddie down, so they fall a little of the way. But they only laugh before they're kissing again, before Eddie's hands are sliding up the back of Richie's shirt, warm and soft and stopping to grip his shoulders. Holds Richie tight as Richie places searing kisses down his neck.

"Are you sure about this, Eds?" Richie asks, as Eddie tugs Richie's shirt off, grips the hem of his own.

"Yeah, yes, just..." Eddie is panting, his lips are kissed red and his pupils are blown. He looks as desperate for Richie as Richie is for him. " _Please_ , Richie."

And then their clothes are on the floor and their kisses are hungry and they grip so tightly to each other because the feeling of skin on skin is so good they're both dizzy with it. Richie wants to kiss every inch of him. Brushes his lips down Eddie's chest, to his stomach, stops to suck his hipbone, nuzzles into Eddie's soft thigh. And Eddie's breath will catch in his throat, and he'll bite back moans, little whines escaping his mouth. It makes Richie groan against him, nips and bites and presses open kisses to his thigh. _I love you._ He wants to say. _"You sound so fucking good,"_ he says instead.

Eddie pulls him back up to kiss his mouth. They rock against each other. _Crave_ each other. But Richie is nervous, now. He's never done this with a guy before. He meets Eddie eye and he knows he's nervous, too.

 _I love you._ He wants to whisper it into Eddie's mouth and seal it there with a kiss.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he murmurs instead.

They figure it out together. And it's a little messy, and they bump heads a few times, laughing, and Eddie calls Richie an idiot at one point, which _should_ ruin the moment, but Richie just think it's sexy. And, then, finally, Richie is sinking into him. Slowly, carefully. Eddie lets out a small gasp, and Richie groans from deep in his throat. Eddie is so _hot_ , so _tight_ around him, Richie is sure that all his nerve ends are on fire, is sure that he is about five seconds from passing out due to sheer _pleasure._

_I love you I love you I love you._

"Eddie," Richie breathes. He leans over and kisses him, gives him time to adjust. "Eddie, _baby_."

"Richie," Eddie whines back.

Richie begins to move, but he keeps his thrusts careful, gentle. Asks, _"okay, Eds?", "Feel good?"_ and Eddie nods, replies with _"Please. Richie, please,"_ like that's all he knows how to say. And Richie moves faster, harder, and buries his face in Eddie's neck.

It doesn't last long. They're too oversensitive. Are finishing only a few minutes after they started. But it's _good_ , it's so fucking good. Richie rolls over onto his side and their chests rise and fall rapidly and sweat soaks through the sheets and Richie cups Eddie's cheek.

_I love you so fucking much._

Eddie smiles at him softly, looking sleepy and flushed and happy. Richie whispers, "I'm so fucking lucky."

 

 

It happens the night before they leave.

They're in Richie's bedroom, lying facing each other on Richie's bed. Their bags are packed and on the floor. The window is open to let in a cool breeze that doesn't exist. It's hot, a sticky kind of hot, and moonlight pools in the middle of the room and bugs chirp noisily from the front lawn. Eddie is wearing one of Richie's shirts and nothing else, so big on him that it slips off one shoulder and reaches mid-thigh. He's talking. A lot. Chattering excitedly about all the plans he's made.

"And I was talking to Stan," he's saying. "About the food we're taking. He said we'll get sick of chips and M&M's in a day, so we make sure we go grocery shopping and buy some fresh food. Probably some apples or something, you know, stuff that doesn't go off quickly. He said no bananas, but I hate bananas anyway. You do too, don't you? Oh, and Bev said she made us some mixtapes for us to listen to, she probably told you that, too. But she gave me a special mixtape filled with songs she think I'll love and you'll hate. I listened to some of it and, oh, she's so right, you're gonna _hate_ it. So that's gonna be the first thing we listen to when we leave..."

There's just something about it. The soft summer night, the light in Eddie's eye, the fact that he's talking about their future together. Richie's arm rests between them and every now and then Eddie will tap on it like he's playing piano keys. He slides their legs together, despite the fact that it's probably too warm for that. It's not an exciting or thoughtful date or passionate sex or a RichieandEddie adventure. But the moment is small and serene and dreamy. Like a moment you'd want to live in forever.

"I love you," Richie blurts, and Eddie's sentence on how they're going to wash their clothes falls to the ground. His eyes widen. Richie's heart is reckless in his chest. "I love you so much it's ridiculous," he continues, and he laughs a little, at how ridiculous it is. "You're all I think about, Eddie. You're all I want. I'm so fucking in love with you."

Eddie looks completely taken aback, like that was the last thing he had expected Richie to say. Richie doesn't even have time to feel anxious about that, he feels so relieved. Like he's let out a breath he's been holding in for too long.

But then the silence continues. On and on. Too long. It begs for Richie to fill it. 

"That was a pretty good love confession, wasn't it?" Richie asks after a little while, laughing nervously. "Sounds like something from a movie but it wasn't. I just copied word for word the shit Stan says to his bird books, and put your name in there..."

"Shut up," Eddie says. He's got a smile on his face now, the kind that's so insanely happy it looks like it hurts. Of course Richie being an idiot pulls him out of his stupor. "You're the worst."

Richie smiles back, but he still sounds nervous when he asks, "So, do you...?"

"Richie, I'm pretty sure I've been in love with you since the moment I met you."

"Well, now, it's not a competition."

Eddie laughs despite himself, leaning forward and tilts Richie's chin up with his fingers, kisses the dumb grin from Richie's face.

"I love you," Eddie murmurs. And if those were the last three words Richie ever heard, he'd fall deaf in peace.

"I love you," Richie echos. "I should have told you sooner."

Eddie's fingers stay curled beneath his chin. He presses his thumb to Richie's jaw.

"It's okay," he says. "We have forever."

 

 

The next day, the Losers come to see them off. Eddie waves from the passenger seat, his feet kicked up on the dash, wearing the heart shaped sunglasses Richie bought him. Bev's mixtape plays over the stereo. Edgar Allan smells of pine forest. The street stretches out in front of them. On and on and on. 

It's a Saturday, around 2pm, and Richie Tozier calls Derry home for the very last time.

 


End file.
